


Open Secrets

by sodium_amytal



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: AU. 2013. One year after the tragic death of his husband Geddy, Alex discovers $250,000 hidden in the crawlspace of his house, along with a cryptic notebook containing names and numbers of Geddy's mysterious work associates. Soon, Alex finds himself pulled into a web of lies and deception that stretches back over thirty years, and learns the seemingly sweet man he married wasn't who he claimed to be. As Alex uncovers the truth about Geddy's dangerous past, he heads straight toward a deadly secret that could change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

Even during a blowjob, Alex can't stop staring at the photograph on the nightstand. Taken when he and Geddy were young and foolishly smitten with each other, before those feelings solidified and matured into love, the photo depicts more innocent times. Alex sees his twenty-something self smiling exuberantly; he can't remember the last time he smiled like that. Is his face even capable of it anymore? Do those muscles, like all the rest, atrophy due to lack of use?

From between Alex's legs, John hums around his cock, mouth and tongue working dutifully to help Alex rise to the occasion. But it's just not working, and Alex sighs, carding a hand through John's dark hair.

"Forget it," Alex murmurs, defeated, and John backs off, cock sliding from his mouth and landing on Alex's belly with a wet plop.

"Not happening tonight, huh?"

"Sorry."

John gives him a weak smile, and Alex thinks it must be difficult to force optimism in the face of these insurmountable odds. John couldn't have known how hard it would be to love someone who doesn't give back, who's always comparing him—subconsciously or not—to a past love. How do you live up to the exalted memory of a dead husband? You don't, and on some level John has to know that. He's not stupid, but maybe his affection for Alex has impaired his judgment.

John cuddles up to Alex in the bed, his warmth against Alex's back a meager facsimile of Geddy's. Alex burns, feeling John's breath in his hair. His arm is warm and solid, draped over Alex's waist, and if Alex closes his eyes and pretends, it's almost like nothing has changed.

* * *

John is the first one up in the morning, as usual. Alex lies in bed for thirty minutes after waking up, staring at the ceiling and remembering happier times. Then he forces himself from the comfort of the duvet and heads down the hall to his daughter Kyla's room. The door is closed, as per teenage rules, so he knocks. "You up?"

"No," comes Kyla's sleepy voice. "Do I have to go?"

Before he lost Geddy, Alex would have told embarrassing dad jokes through the door until Kyla swung it open and smacked him with a pillow. He would have reminded her about the importance of school, and she would have rolled her eyes and reminded him of his own poor attendance. But now he only cares if she's alive. Kyla is seventeen, a high school senior with an acceptance letter to the University of British Columbia. So what if she skips a day at this juncture?

"It's up to you," Alex says through the door.

Downstairs, John has prepared a breakfast of coffee, eggs, and some sort of granola and fruit parfait. He has opened the windows over the breakfast nook, and brilliant morning light illuminates the room like a flashbomb and bounces off the stainless steel appliances. Alex scowls and squints at the brightness like he's Clint Eastwood. John just smiles at him in his neverending, futile quest to make Alex happy.

"Good morning," John says, mixing up a protein shake over the sink. The coffee and eggs are for Alex, but he bypasses the coffee and instead plucks a small champagne bottle out of the fridge, pouring its contents into a glass of orange juice.

Alex has done this plenty of times, and John always pretends not to notice.

They eat in silence until Kyla comes downstairs five minutes later.

"You're up," Alex says. "Does this mean you're going?"

Kyla sighs. "I forgot I have a stupid math test today. No make-ups."

As Kyla heads into the kitchen, John says, "There's eggs if you're hungry."

"I don't want anything heavy." She grabs a package of Pop-Tarts and a can of Red Bull from the fridge.

"Those things'll kill you, y'know," John teases, attempting familiarity.

Kyla rolls her eyes, and her response is nowhere near as lighthearted. "You, maybe." John is diabetic, so that one cuts a little deeper.

Alex frowns but says nothing, just watches her climb the stairs and shut herself off into her room.

"She still doesn't like me," John says with a soft, 'what can you do' smile.

"Just a couple more months." It's nearing the end of April, which means school will be out for the summer, and Kyla will most likely abandon this place, this shrine to the past, in favor of traveling with her friends before college. He wouldn't blame her one bit, but the last thing he wants is to be alone now.

"I get it. I can't say I blame her," John says.

Of course Kyla doesn't like John; she sees him the way Alex does: a poor man's Geddy. For Kyla, who had adored her biological father, it stabs deep every time she sees John fill the spaces in their lives that Geddy once called home. It's only been a year since Geddy died, only six months since John became a regular fixture in her and Alex's lives.

"Do the boys know about us?" John asks.

'The boys' are Alex and Geddy's two grown sons, Adrian and Justin. They moved out years ago, pursuing families and careers and education. They don't visit very often—usually just on holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries—but they call every now and then, their calls more frequent now that they're down a parent.

Alex shrugs. "I haven't told them. But Kyla probably texts them and complains about you."

"It's a rite of passage."

Alex almost smiles, but it comes out mangled on his face. He has forgotten how to smile.

"I have some errands to run," John says. "Will you be okay?"

Translation: _will you try not to swallow a bottle of pills while I'm gone?_ They go through this every morning; Alex knows the drill.

"I'll be fine."

After breakfast, John goes upstairs to shower and change. Alex is in the kitchen cleaning up when Kyla comes downstairs again. "Hey, hon?" he calls, earning a dry, teenage, "What?"

Alex waits until Kyla moves closer before he speaks again. "Go easy on John, alright? I know the past year's been really hard, but he's just trying to help."

Kyla rolls her eyes, looking so much like her father it actually hurts. She has the same chestnut hair, the same proud nose. "He's _trying_ to replace Daddy."

"No one could ever replace Geddy."

"Why are you doing this? You don't even love him." And, like Geddy, Kyla is also perceptive and too smart for her own good.

Alex sighs, wiping his wet hands on a dish towel. "You're right. I don't. But love doesn't happen immediately. Not at my age, anyway." He thinks about justifying himself, defending this relationship with John by listing all the things he likes about him, but the words don't come. "Just try to be nice, okay?"

"Fine," Kyla says, aggrieved, before turning away. Her shoulder bag bumps against her hip as she walks to the door. She glances at Alex, as though remembering the last thing she says to him might be the last thing. "Bye, Pop," she says before she leaves, and Alex's heart clenches.

Justin and Adrian were born in the early years of Alex and Geddy's relationship when Geddy was busy with work, so the boys gravitated toward their primary caretaker, Alex. But by the time Kyla came along, Geddy's workload had slowed down considerably, enough for him to take on the main parenting role and forge a deeper bond with Kyla than Alex ever would. Which was all well and good when Geddy was alive, but now that he's gone Alex feels the chasm between himself and his daughter, and he has no idea how to bridge it.

John comes downstairs a little while later, looking sharp in jeans and a t-shirt. He kisses Alex's cheek—like he's a 1950s husband off to work—and says, "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will. Be safe." Because the last thing Alex needs is to lose John in a car accident, too.

Then John is out the door, and the house is silent.

Alex retreats to the comfort of the sunroom, which he renovated into a painting studio when he and Geddy first bought the house. With floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides, it's ideal for sparking and facilitating the artistic muse. Natural light has always bolstered Alex's creativity, but lately his inspiration has been skull-deep boredom. Bore yourself enough and inspiration will surface, if only to preserve your sanity.

Alex has completed twenty pieces since Geddy's death, but he hasn't put them up for sale yet, just posted photographs of each piece on his Instagram. He's still not sure how to feel about them, about the way the subject matter of his art has shifted drastically after his life's tragedies. Is his work worse now, tainted with a tangible anguish the viewer can instinctually feel? Or are they better for it, infused with all the beauty and pain of the human experience?

Time will tell. For now, Alex sits at the easel and plays some music on his phone—nothing that reminds him of Geddy, because he doesn't hate himself that much. He listens and paints and fades away.

The barking dog snaps him back to reality. He doesn't have a dog. Outside, on the other side of the white picket fence, someone's walking their Corgi, which has caught sight of Kyla's orange and white cat, Toffee. Toffee is old and chubby, so he doesn't move very fast. Alex sees him scurry underneath the house, his usual hiding spot when frightened by a loud dog, a car backfire, or a fast-moving leaf.

Toffee typically stays indoors; he must have darted out when Kyla or John left. Putting aside the possibility of getting hit by a car, he doesn't need any fleas or bugs crawling into his fur and infesting the house. Alex gets up and heads for the meter room.

Inside the small room housing the water heater is a hatched door that opens up to the crawlspace. Toffee likes to hide in the crawlspace, but he can be coaxed out by the promise of food or just a friendly voice. Alex opens the hatch and kneels on the floor, peering into the dark hole. "Hey, buddy. C'mon inside."

He hunkers down further for a better look. He can't see anything, so he sticks his arm down inside, groping for the cat, or at least hoping Toffee will come toward his scent. Alex's hand touches something leathery and dry, absolutely not the furry cat butt he was expecting, and jerks his hand back in startled horror.

Did something die down there? Unlikely, since whatever Alex touched felt too dry and smooth to be a dead animal. And the smell of decay ought to be wafting up by now; Alex doesn't smell anything but dirt.

So not a dead animal. Then what?

Alex lies flat on his stomach, reaching into the crawlspace. Something brushes against his arm, and he makes a pathetic noise of panic before realizing it's Toffee. The cat springs up and out, still surprisingly agile for his age and weight. Alex makes contact with the mystery object, gets a handful of it and pulls. It's heavier than he expected, and when he drags it into sight he sees it's a leather duffel bag.

Oh jeez. Maybe it's a body. Or parts of one. Nothing promising is ever carried in a duffel bag. Alex gets hold of the handles and heaves the bag out of the hole. Toffee stands guard, his ears flattening when the bag slaps against the hardwood floor.

Slowly, Alex moves into a more comfortable position, sitting there with this mysterious bag between his splayed legs like a kid on Christmas morning about to unwrap a present. Alex looks at Toffee. "You know what's in here?"

Toffee just stares at him, as if to say, 'Open it and find out, dumbass.'

"Okay, you don't have to be rude." Alex unzips the bag, and piles of cash flow out like lava. He hears himself gasp, the breath catching in his throat. Electricity tingles his skin.

Had this money been here when they moved in?

Doubtful. Alex and Geddy used to hide Christmas presents down here for the kids. Neither of them found a bag of money.

Could someone have wriggled underneath the house and planted the bag here?

Again, doubtful. A grown person probably couldn't fit under here without getting stuck, and how would they know to place the bag almost directly underneath the hatch? Which means someone placed it there from inside the house.

Kyla would make the accusation that John put the money here. But John hasn't moved in yet, and most likely doesn't even know this room exists, or at least that the crawlspace access door exists. Alex, the son of a plumber, takes care of all home hardware repairs, so John wouldn't have a reason to be in this room anyway.

Which leaves the only possible answer: Geddy left the money here.

Except Geddy already divided out his assets in his will. Why, then, would he leave a staggering amount of money (Alex can't even begin to count the bills bound in each stack) hidden in their house?

Was Geddy guilty of tax evasion? Or was he involved in something shadier, like drug trafficking? Was he breaking bad?

Back up here a second. Geddy had always been rich, or at least pretty well-off financially; Alex knew this from the moment they met. Is it weird that Alex found a duffel bag full of cash in the crawlspace? Sure. But it's entirely possible Geddy withdrew the money for some extravagant purchase—a new house, a French vineyard—and never had the chance to use it or tell Alex about it. That's far more likely than Geddy being a Canadian Walter White.

* * *

Alex estimates two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars in total. He's not going to sit here and meticulously count out every stack, but given that the first had one hundred $100 bills, and there are twenty-five stacks, he'll just assume there are no surprise denominations or missing bills. The bundles are bound with rubber bands, not the traditional currency strap used by banks. So that's suspicious.

Sitting here in the crawlspace with a quarter-million dollars in cash, Alex struggles to rationalize this away, but he can't think of something that makes sense and also explains why the money isn't properly bound. Sure, if Geddy spontaneously decided to buy another house or a small island, he would have gone to the bank, and the money wouldn't be tied up with rubber bands like payments in a drug deal.

And why cash, anyway? Geddy never made much of a fuss about not trusting banks, so there would be no reason for him to stash all this money away like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter.

It's 2013. No one pays for anything in cash anymore, except under-the-table transactions they want to hide from the IRS. Or the police.

Even more troubling is what Alex finds at the bottom of the bag.

As if the money wasn't disturbing enough, Alex discovers a leather-bound journal, the pages yellowed and cracked with age. Inside are names and numbers. More precisely, first names and phone numbers. Some of the names Alex recognizes, but considering they're only first names that isn't saying much.

An idea sparks in Alex's head. He gets to his feet and reloads the bundles of money into the bag so he can leave without tripping over them. He finds his phone in the sunroom, still playing music. He kills the audio and brings the phone back to the meter room. Pulling up his contact list, he tries to match the names with numbers in his phone. Some of them match, some of them don't. Among the shared contacts: Liam, Neil, Ray. Two of the names in the journal raise Alex's eyebrows: B-Man, and H. Seriously?

The drug dealer theory gains a little more steam.

No. No. Don't be ridiculous.

Alex carries the bag and journal upstairs to the bedroom and opens his laptop. Since he can't run a Google search on first names only, Alex does the next best thing and plugs the phone numbers into a reverse lookup.

He's disappointed in the results. Most of the numbers are defunct and no longer in service. The others either pull up a page that lets him know this number is unlisted, or vague results in the Toronto area. Alex would write the journal off as just a simple address book, but it's missing some vital pieces. Namely, Geddy's mother's phone number. Alex's parents'. Justin and Adrian's numbers. The boys moved out before cell phones were ubiquitous; Geddy would have needed a reference for their numbers.

The book, it seems, is a log of Geddy's work associates.

It's probably unwise for Alex to poke around here without knowing what exactly he's getting into. He stashes the bag, along with the money and the journal, in the far recesses of the closet. Maybe he should wait for John; it might help to talk this out with someone, see where the holes in his logic are.

Alex tries to stop his hands from shaking.

* * *

_March 1976_

Alex first met Geddy while working as a waiter at La Pasta Strangiato, an Italian restaurant that seemed to only pull enough profit to keep afloat. Geddy was a regular, usually sandwiched between a bunch of important-looking guys wearing fancy dark suits or, at the very least, crisp dress shirts with rolled-up sleeves and perfectly-pressed pants. He was an outlier, dressed far more casually than the others, though that never seemed to make him an outcast among the group. All of them looked a few years older than Geddy; had they any shared features, Alex would have assumed they were family.

Geddy left generous tips for Alex every time he paid his bill, which Alex assumed was a silent apology for the way his tablemates would snark about Alex's obvious homosexuality when he walked away. Alex didn't mind putting up with them when it meant a hefty tip and the pleasure of seeing Geddy's stupidly-cute face at least once a week.

But Geddy made his intentions clear one night after his entourage had filed out the door. Geddy took Alex aside and said, "I wanna take you out sometime."

Alex blinked in confusion. "Like a hitman?"

To Alex's surprise, Geddy laughed. It was a nice, musical sound, and Alex wanted to hear it again. "No, like on a date."

"Oh," Alex chuckled, his face heating up in a mix of embarrassment over the misunderstanding and elation that Geddy wanted him. "Okay, well, anything but Italian."

Geddy laughed again, and Alex's heart soared and sang. He dug into the pocket of his dark jeans and placed a folded twenty in Alex's palm. "Call me sometime, okay?" He shot Alex a coy, slightly nervous smile and walked away.

Alex looked at the bill in his hand. Written on the top edge was Geddy's phone number. Alex never spent that twenty dollars, to this day keeping it tucked away in his wallet like a faded photograph.

Their first date took place at an upscale restaurant in the heart of the city. Geddy effortlessly breezed them by the long line backed up around the front of the building by uttering a name, then the two of them were whisked away to a private table on the other side of the restaurant. Alex admired the glass chandelier hanging from above and the intricate brickwork along the walls.

Geddy made a point of ordering the most expensive wine on the menu. After the waiter left, Alex chuckled and said, "Nice to be on the other side for once."

Geddy smiled.

Alex shifted in his seat. "You don't have to try to impress me. I already like you."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're cute. That counts for a lot."

Geddy laughed; Alex wouldn't mind hearing that sound for the rest of his life.

"You don't know anything about me either."

"You're cute too."

Alex grinned. "So we're both shallow." He unfolded his silverware from its cloth napkin. "What kind of name is Geddy anyway?" he teased, toying with the corner of the cloth.

"It's how my mother pronounces Gary."

"Oh, you lucked out. Geddy is way better."

The wine arrived, and Geddy poured their glasses while ordering more flagrantly expensive items, clearly ignoring Alex's reassurance that he didn't have to flaunt his wealth. Alex settled for a steak.

When they were alone again, Alex asked, "So where are your parents from?"

"Poland."

"Oh, cool, you have immigrant parents too."

Geddy cocked an eyebrow. "Yours?"

"Serbia. Hey, how come you have all this money? Is your family rich?"

Geddy's mouth quirked into a sly smile. "You could say that."

At the time, that was all Alex cared to know. He was more interested in how to make Geddy laugh again, how to make him smile and his cheeks flush. Alex succeeded through most of the evening, earning all of the above when he flirtatiously tied a cherry stem with his tongue over dessert. Then his mouth pulled even better sounds from Geddy when they were parked in front of Alex's apartment, and Alex sucked him off from the passenger seat.

He fell asleep that night dreaming of domesticity, of soft morning kisses and silver wedding bands.


	2. Chapter 2

Patience isn't Alex's strongest virtue, so instead of waiting for John he pays a visit to the lawyer who arranged and read Geddy's will. The inside of the conference room is rich mahogany, deep leather chairs that suck you in like quicksand, framed posters and paintings of beaches. Alex recognizes one of his own paintings on the wall; it had been on display the last time he was here, but Alex barely remembers anything about the aftermath of Geddy's death.

"Alex." Nancy Young breathes a small sigh, sympathy in her eyes as she clasps his hand between her own. "I wish it didn't sound callous to say it's nice to see you again."

Alex huffs a sound that might be interpreted as a laugh. He takes a seat in one of the plush chairs. His wedding ring catches the light and makes him self-conscious. He covers it, folds both hands on a table so shiny it could double as a mirror.

Nancy's blond hair is twisted up into a loose bun. Her pastel blue blouse, open at the throat, showcases a gold necklace on a thin chain. "What can I do for you? Were you interested in amending your last will and testament?"

"Actually, I was hoping we could look over Ged's again," Alex starts. No way he's telling her about the money. "After he died, I just... wasn't really there, y'know? So I don't remember what was in it or who got what. All a blur. A refresher would be nice."

"Understandable." Nancy tugs a file from her desk. "Did you want me to read it again?"

"Just hit the important parts."

Nancy nods, opening the file as she sits across from him. "He left everything in trusts so there wouldn't be any"—she searches for the word—"contention about the amounts. $20,000 each to Justin and Adrian, $5,000 for each grandchild, totalling $15,000, then $87,000 to Kyla, and the rest of his bank account and assets were left to you."

Alex chews that over. "$87,000 is a pretty specific amount, don't you think?" It makes sense Kyla would be given the most money, since she's the youngest and about to start university, but why not a nice, even number?

Nancy hesitates, as though deliberating whether to betray a confidence. "I didn't think it was strange until I saw Kyla in this office that day I read the will."

"Why's that?"

"Well, when Geddy came to me and amended the will, I assumed Kyla was much younger, and that your husband was leaving her enough money for university in case he died before she came of age."

"He amended the will? When?"

"About a week before his death, strangely enough."

And there it is. Alex feels a cold gust blow across his heart.

How could Geddy have known he would have a car accident and turn to ashes in the wreckage? Why would he leave Kyla such a specific amount of money so soon before his death?

Unless... The car accident wasn't an accident. Someone was after Geddy, and he knew it. He just couldn't stop it.

"Did he change anything else?" Alex asks, finding his voice.

Nancy thumbs through the pages in the file. "Not that I can see."

"What was the original amount he'd had for Kyla?"

"$35,000."

So a little more since she was the youngest (and, arguably, his favorite, if he had one at all), but not exactly enough to completely cover tuition.

"Any special notes or instructions?" A note saying 'I left a bunch of cash in the crawlspace; do as you please with it' would be really nice. Not that Alex plans on actually using the money, but still.

Nancy shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. Just the one change."

Geddy must have suspected his life was in danger if he left Kyla enough to pay for her university tuition. For one reason or another, he didn't think he'd live to see her graduate high school.

Why? What could Geddy have gotten involved with that would put his life in peril?

Whatever it was, Alex has a feeling it's got something to do with the money hidden beneath the house.

* * *

_August 1977_

Geddy had a way of making things happen. He got them into restaurants with waiting lists backlogged into the next century just by uttering a few words. He bought Alex fancy watches and gifts and expensive wines and gourmet chocolates. Alex didn't care about the material rewards, but he couldn't deny that dating Geddy certainly had its share of perks.

But Geddy never spoke explicitly about what he did for a living, and Alex never really pushed the topic. If Geddy didn't volunteer the information, he probably didn't want to talk about it. And it's not like Alex was jazzed to talk about his own job as a waiter. They had plenty of other conversational topics, and sometimes they didn't need conversation at all.

They lay in bed one night, flushed and sweat-stippled after a bout of strenuous lovemaking. Alex had always found that term too flowery for his liking, but after meeting Geddy he understood it perfectly. Geddy didn't fuck; he made love, no matter how much Alex begged for the former. But it was nice to be treated like something sacred.

Geddy skimmed a hand along the length of Alex's torso, his fingers sliding in the slickness there. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice a gentle caress over Alex's cheek.

Alex turned his head to look at Geddy. "I dunno. You think we could get a hamburger this late?"

"Not food," Geddy chuckled. "I'm talking bigger. What do you want out of life?"

Alex chewed his lip, unsure if he should be honest. But he'd been dating Geddy for almost a year and a half now, and he felt so full of love and excitement for a future together that he might burst. "Just to be with you."

Geddy's smile made Alex dizzy. He tucked a chunk of Alex's damp hair behind his ear. "A simple man with simple pleasures."

"There's a little more," Alex admitted, chagrined by his wants. "I wanna start a family, y'know, raising kids. I really missed my calling as a housewife."

"I could make that happen."

Alex snorted a laugh. "Who do you think you are, the Great and Powerful Oz?"

"He was a fraud. I'm the real deal."

Alex laughed again and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

He didn't give that exchange much thought until a few days later when, during a night in at Alex's apartment, Geddy said, "If you're still serious about wanting kids, I have a surrogate lined up. Just jerk off into a cup and you're good to go."

Alex nearly choked on his beer, not so much from the vulgarity as the seriousness of the proposition. "No shit?" He studied Geddy's face, searching for the hint of a joking smile or mirth at the corners of his eyes. But all Alex found was honesty. "You really want—With me? 'Cause I don't wanna do it if you don't..."

"I'm with you," Geddy promised, linking Alex's fingers with his own. "All the way."

* * *

As much as Alex wants to dig into the mystery of the cash and Geddy's potentially questionable career, he can't investigate much with Kyla around. If Geddy was involved in something shady, it would break Kyla's heart. He has to protect her, no matter what.

"John's not staying tonight?" Kyla asks, sounding relieved as she joins Alex to help in the kitchen.

"I don't think so."

Kyla sort of elbows him out of the way, commandeering the pot on the stovetop, and Alex still feels the urge to stop her from overexerting herself, even four years later. When Kyla was thirteen she developed Fanconi anemia, an inherited, fatal anemia that leads to bone marrow failure. Her chromosomes slowly weakened by the disease, and Alex and Geddy longed for a miracle to save their daughter's life. Then a bone marrow donor appeared, a match for Kyla's blood type, and the transplant took.

Kyla looks at the roasted butternut squash halves on the countertop. "Ew, you're putting that in the mac and cheese? That's disgusting."

"Your dad loved it. I made it for him a few times when we first started dating," Alex says. "You've had it before; you just didn't know it."

Kyla makes a face, like she's offended she's been tricked. "I thought it was sweet potato guts."

"And that wasn't gross?"

She shrugs, stirring the pasta.

Alex makes a move to take away the wooden spoon. "Why don't you let me do the cooking? You've probably got homework or something, right?"

Kyla gives him a look that says she thinks he's an idiot. "No, I finish it in class."

"Right, I keep forgetting you're a genius." Alex smiles, just a bit, but it doesn't seem to fall apart on his face, judging by Kyla's expression.

"I'm not sick anymore, Pop. You don't have to baby me."

"I'm your dad. It's what I do."

She rolls her eyes, but there's affection there, a tenderness Alex wants to protect as long as he can.

When the food is ready, Kyla actually eats with him in the dining area. She doesn't exactly provide a wealth of conversation, just short one or two-word answers, but Alex is still amazed she voluntarily sat with him; he wonders if it's because John isn't here.

"Can I ask you something?" Kyla says about halfway through dinner. "And don't get mad."

"I can't promise that, but go on."

"So Laura's going to UBC too, and after graduation she's gonna go to Vancouver and start living there, y'know, instead of living on campus, so I was wondering if I could go with her? We could be roommates, so I wouldn't be living by myself, and I'll be eighteen next month, and since I won't be living on campus, I'll save on tuition, so the money Daddy left me..." She stops, overwhelmed by the thought.

Alex finds this amusing. "You're asking permission to move out?" Laura has been Kyla's best friend since she entered high school. After Geddy died and Kyla shut herself in her room for weeks after the shiva, Laura came by every day to bring Kyla the work she'd missed and offer emotional support. Laura lost her mother to ovarian cancer when she was eight, so she understood what Kyla was going through on a deeper level than anyone.

Kyla squirms, fearing a rejection. "Kind of. But I need to know John will be here. I don't want you alone."

"So you're moving out, and John's moving in?"

Her face scrunches up, as though she loathes the idea of John taking Geddy's place in the family but knows it's probably best for Alex. "If that's what you want."

"What I want is for you to be happy. Don't make yourself miserable by staying here and thinking you have to take care of me. I'm not that old yet."

Kyla smiles weakly, because Alex has purposely evaded the real reason for her concern. "Do you think John would move in?"

"He's got some stuff here. Clothes, mostly. So, yeah, he probably wants to."

"Ask him, okay? 'Cause I won't go if you're here by yourself."

Alex reaches across the table and covers her hand with his own. "Hey, listen. I know what you're scared of. But I would never do that to you, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?"

Alex nods. "I do. You don't need to worry about me."

Kyla presses her lips together in thought, an echo of her father, and she seems to accept his word, albeit warily.

After dinner, she goes upstairs to her room, presumably to tell Laura the good news. Alex cleans up the kitchen and dials John's number on his cell phone.

John answers after two rings, his voice filled with concern. "Alex? Everything okay?"

"Jeez, relax. Maybe I just wanna talk."

John huffs an uneasy laugh. "That doesn't happen very often."

"It's a special occasion," Alex says, sitting at the dining nook and gazing out at the night. "Kyla thinks you should move in."

"If _you_ want me to move in, you can just say so."

"Hand to God, she suggested it."

"Because she wants me to keep an eye on you," John says, slyly but not without warmth. At Alex's stunned silence, John adds, "She loves you more than she hates me."

"She doesn't _hate_ you," Alex corrects, focusing on the trees rather than the forest. "She just doesn't like you very much."

John laughs. The sound is not as beautiful or all-encompassing as Geddy's laugh, but Alex could get used to it in time. He'll have to. "Oh, well, thanks for clearing that up."

Alex sighs. Light emanates from the edges of the neighbors' side window, and Alex can make out the flicker of a television from behind the curtains.

"Do you want me to move in?" John asks after a moment, keeping his voice controlled, trying not to show too much investment in Alex's decision.

Alex stares blankly at the night sky. He had loved John fiercely at one point, so long ago it feels like a past life. Maybe he could feel a modicum of that same passion and fire again if given the chance.

"Why not?" Alex says lightheartedly. "It'd make Kyla happy."

"But what about you? What would make you happy?"

_For none of this to have happened. To wake up next to Geddy again._

"We could make something together, you and me." The lump in Alex's throat makes it hard to breathe.

* * *

_October 1978_

Geddy hadn't lied about the surrogate, so within the span of a few days Alex had a child growing in the body of a woman named Charlene, who Geddy claimed was a friend of a friend. Alex didn't dig too deep into that, but he formed a friendship with the mother of his unborn child, helping her with errands as the pregnancy developed.

Justin was born in April of 1978, and Alex took to the role of fatherhood as though he was created for it. Thanks to Geddy's generous income, Alex quit his job and focused on his passion for art and raising a child. His days were a hectic jumble of feedings and changing and burpings, of rising to needy wails over the baby monitor, and Alex loved it.

"You're such a weirdo," Geddy teased him one night after Alex crawled back into bed with him after tending to Justin's distress. One eye was cracked open but already sinking shut, succumbing to the siren call of sleep. "Why are you smiling? Most parents hate this part."

Alex turned on his side to face Geddy and cuddled closer. "Because I never thought I'd get to have this," he said simply, as though there was never any other answer.

One particular night found him in the nursery reading to a half-asleep Justin in the room's plush, oversized chair. Justin was slumped in Alex's lap, his tiny, plump fingers curled in the front of Alex's t-shirt. It was nearing midnight, and he'd woken up from what Alex could only presume was a bad dream, because Justin didn't need changing or burping and had refused the bottle. So Alex tried to rock him back to sleep before settling on reading to him. Justin probably didn't understand all the words, but Alex's voice seemed to calm him.

Geddy hadn't come home yet, so it was just the two of them in the brightly-colored nursery, surrounded by baby blankets and oversize stuffed animals. Alex had painted the walls with detailed nautical-themed murals, as though a single painting was stretched across the room. There was a lighthouse and a beach, sailboats on the water and docked on shore, a cartoon pelican perched on the rocks. Alex liked to come in here and admire the scene, not out of arrogance of his own talent but for tranquility. Sometimes he could almost hear the waves crashing against the shore.

Justin's chubby hand fell limp, and Alex knew he was fast asleep. Rising slowly from the chair, Alex settled him into the crib. He looked around for a moment, taking in the pearl-white furniture and the starfish-patterned curtains and red seahorse lamp. He still couldn't believe this was his life, and that he'd earned it without much of a struggle. Geddy had appeared like a fairytale Prince Charming, ready to sweep Alex away from the doldrums of his job and uneventful home life, and Alex didn't even have to sacrifice anything. It was almost too good to be true.

Alex padded down the hall and slipped into bed, nudging the volume on the baby monitor so he could better hear if Justin needed him again. He thought about waiting up for Geddy, but sleep was on him too quickly.

A noise jerked Alex awake. Fearing the worst, his gaze immediately snagged on the baby monitor. The monitor's power light was on, but the red lights—like an equalizer bar on a stereo—were off, indicating no static or noise from the nursery.

Alex listened over the lazy hum of the bedroom's box fan near the window. Then he heard voices. One of them sounded like Geddy's. Alex crept out of bed and inched toward the second-floor railing. "Ged?" he called quietly. "That you?"

"Yeah," Geddy answered, and Alex let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Stay there, okay? I'll be up soon."

Curious, Alex took a few more steps, descending the first couple stairs to bring the muffled, quiet voices into focus. The house was dark, save for a faint glow in the kitchen, probably from the light above the stove. Alex couldn't make out what the voices were saying, but he knew for certain that they were both male, and one of them was Geddy. Extreme sleuthing.

Alex moved in closer, taking two more stairs.

"Shit," the other male voice murmured. "It's deeper than I thought."

"Just take it out," Geddy growled through his teeth.

"I will, but it's going to bleed. A lot."

At first, Alex thought he'd overheard the aftermath of an embarrassing sexual injury, that maybe Geddy had experimented with a toy and lost it somewhere in his body. Then he heard the other voice say, "Hold still," and heard Geddy bite down on a cry, and the sex toy theory gained a bit of hilarious steam.

Alex heard the tinkle of glass, then a loud crash in the kitchen jolted the thoughts out of his head.

"Damn it, Neil," Geddy sighed. "The baby's asleep."

"Sorry."

Footsteps squeaked against the kitchen tile, then Geddy rounded the corner, as though prepared to call up to Alex and assuage his worries about the noise. But Geddy looked startled to see Alex standing there halfway down the staircase.

Alex took in the scene, his spinning, panicked brain unable to attach meaning to it. Geddy stood at the foot of the stairs, shirtless, one hand pressing a blood-soaked cloth bandage against his reedy arm. His skin was pasty, dark strands of hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

Geddy frowned disapprovingly. "I told you to stay upstairs, Lerxst. Everything's fine."

"Fine? You're bleeding! What's going on? Who's Neil?"

Neil popped his head out from around the corner. He had long brown hair and the most ridiculous mustache Alex had ever seen. "Um, hello. Sorry, I'm Dr. Peart. I'm just stitching Geddy up really quick. Won't be a minute, he'll be good as new. Sorry for the noise. I don't usually do house calls. I'm used to my own office space."

Alex blinked, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene playing out in the foyer. "What happened to Geddy?"

Neil pressed his lips together. "Mm, sorry, can't disclose that. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all."

Alex shot Geddy a furious look. "Why are you bleeding?"

"It's nothing," Geddy started to say, but Alex cut him off.

"And that's why you brought a doctor over to our house in the middle of the night?"

Geddy's brow creased, a troubled expression marring the canvas of his face. "Lerxst... just go upstairs, okay?"

Alex wanted to press the subject, to shake Geddy and make the answers fall out of him like loose change, but he could see Geddy's resolve would not budge. He nodded, made a soft noise in his throat, and headed up the stairs.

He checked the nursery on his way to the bedroom. Justin slept as contentedly as Alex had left him, undisturbed by the commotion downstairs. Alex crawled into bed and tried not to worry.

Geddy joined him ten minutes later, immediately shutting himself in the bathroom and turning on the shower. Alex sighed, waiting. When Geddy finally emerged, steam billowing behind him from the small room, he dug a t-shirt and a pair of underwear from the bureau drawers, dressed, and slid underneath the covers beside Alex. His nearly-naked warmth felt like home, the fruity smell of shampoo fresh in his damp hair. He threw his bandaged arm over Alex's waist and snuggled his face into Alex's neck.

"You're not gonna tell me what happened." It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact, as though Alex already knew this would go nowhere.

"It was nothing. I cut myself on a nail, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't infected."

Alex was too tired to think of how Geddy might have done that, the logistics involved in an accidental cut that deep. He made a thoughtful sound, like that cleared up everything.

In his most honest moments, the ones he dare not speak out loud, Alex didn't want to dig too deep into Geddy's private life, because he wasn't sure he'd like what he found. Geddy had told him he was a legal advisor for a private company, but maybe he dealt with some shady clients every now and then, people willing to use violence to intimidate. Did Alex really want to know and spoil the perfect storybook life he had here?


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning it's just Alex and Kyla in the kitchen, Kyla pouring cereal while Alex spreads various condiments on toast slices. "Be careful what you wish for," he says, trying for light-hearted.

Kyla gives him a confused look.

"I asked John to move in," Alex explains. "He said yes."

Kyla sucks on her bottom lip, as though trying not to cry. She blinks and says, "Okay. Cool."

Alex can tell it's most certainly not cool, that she's swallowing back her resentment of John for Alex's sake. "Not too late to change your mind."

She shakes her head. "No. It's for the best. I just... Having him step in and take Daddy's place..."

"He won't. I'll never love John the way I love your dad."

Kyla's mouth twitches into a tiny smile, as though noticing the present tense. "You're settling."

"Yeah, I am. But, c'mon, you really think I'm gonna meet somebody even half as great as Geddy?"

Kyla can't really argue the point.

"If it would help, you can take his things with you when you move out," Alex says. "As much or as little as you want."

A sad smile crosses her profile, obscured by the curtain of her hair. "Thanks."

While Kyla's at school, Alex calls Neil and invites him over for a chat. Neil rings the doorbell, and Alex answers on the second chime.

Despite their rocky beginnings, Neil Peart became a close friend to the Weinrib-Živojinović household. The kids call him "Uncle Neil," since he hung around often enough to be confused for an actual blood relative. But Neil has kept his distance since the funeral and the shiva, checking in maybe once a month instead of the usual weekly visits.

"What's so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?" Neil asks with a smirk.

"Maybe I just wanted to see your cheery face."

Neil always wears the expression of a man who is tired of everyone's shit. Today is no different. He huffs laughter, and Alex lets him inside.

Neil looks around, perhaps searching for changes since his last visit. There aren't any, at least nothing significant. "Love what you've done with the place."

"John'll change things around when he gets moved in."

Neil turns, his expression an eclectic mix of confusion, surprise, and, oddly enough, anger.

"Oh, yeah, John's moving in." Alex feels like a teenager who suddenly let a secret slip to his parents, but he wants Neil to be proud of him for taking strides forward. "What can I say? I need him around."

Neil's even worse than Kyla at hiding his displeasure over John, but it's not like he's had much practice.

"You and Kyla could bond over hating him."

Neil shakes his head. "I have nothing against the guy. I've only met him once."

The first (and last) time Neil saw John was around Christmas, a visit paid out of pity and obligation. Alex's relationship with John was in its infancy then, and Neil probably assumed it was a passing fad, a desperate need for comfort during the first holiday season without Geddy.

"But it's a little soon," Neil says with a shrug, as though feeling obligated to defend his sour expression. "And I find it suspicious he started coming around after he found out you inherited most of Geddy's estate."

Alex blanches in offense. "You think he's a gold-digger?"

"I just think it's a pretty big coincidence," Neil says, holding up his hands like he's warding off an argument. "But it's not like I have proof he has ulterior motives. What's he do again?"

"Hedge funds or trust accounts or selling bonds. I don't know. Something with money."

Neil's mouth quirks.

"I seem to pick men whose jobs I can never really identify," Alex says, circling the airport of the conversation he wants to have. He decides to come in for a landing and just ask. "Like Geddy. Did he ever tell you what he did?"

"You were together over thirty years and you don't know?"

Alex feels his face heat up. He sits on the arm of the couch, runs a hand through his hair. "I know, I probably seem like a fucking fool, but we kinda had a don't ask, don't tell policy about that. But since he's gone..." Alex loses his train of thought for a moment. "Maybe it doesn't matter anymore."

Neil folds his arms over his chest. "What's with the sudden interest in Geddy's private life?"

Telling Neil about the money probably isn't a good idea. "I miss him. And, I dunno, discovering something new about him kinda makes it feel like he's still alive."

Neil's brow creases. He moves closer and sits in the empty space on the couch, offering silent support.

"That night I met you," Alex says to Neil, "what happened to him? He didn't tell you how he got his injury?"

"He did..."

"And?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Alex."

Alex putters a sigh through his lips. "He's dead. He was my husband. I know the concept of closure is bullshit, but you can at least give me something."

"Geddy's death does not alter my professional obligations."

"Physician-patient confidentiality only applies to things he told you while receiving medical care. Anything he said while you two were just buddies having a beer doesn't count."

Neil gives him a look, almost surprised.

"What? I know stuff."

Neil just watches him.

"Can you at least tell me if that was the only time you treated him? Did he have other suspicious injuries?"

It takes Neil a moment, but he relents, sensing Alex's unwillingness to budge here. "I set his shoulder once. Stitched him up a few times. Nothing life-threatening, if that's what you mean."

A flicker of memories explodes in Alex's head. Nights where Geddy came home late, refusing physical contact. Long sleeves in the middle of summer. Alex noticed these things when they happened and found them unusual, but the memories became victims of time, shoved aside in his brain in favor of others. But they remained, and Neil's words have dusted them off and brought them to the forefront.

Neil interprets Alex's silence as dissatisfaction. "How is learning about any of this supposed to help?"

No choice now. He'll have to give a little to get a little. "I think Geddy might have known he was gonna die. Like maybe that car accident wasn't really an accident."

Horror crosses Neil's face in a bolt of surprise. "That's a pretty bold accusation."

"A week before he died, he had his will changed to give Kyla almost exactly the amount she'd need for college. She was sixteen then. Why did he think he wouldn't live long enough to pay her tuition? Maybe if I knew what Geddy actually did for a living, I could find his killer."

"If he didn't tell you any of that when he was alive, don't you think I have an obligation not to betray what he told me in the strictest of confidences?"

"So you just wanna shove this all aside? If he really was murdered, too bad, so sad? I don't think that's your style, Neil."

" _If_ he was murdered," Neil says with emphasis. "Geddy died in a car accident, Alex. He most likely swerved to avoid something—another car, an animal, whatever—and went over an embankment. The car caught fire due to a faulty gas tank, and he couldn't get out after tumbling down the ravine."

Alex squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to picture that awful moment, flinching away from the violence in Neil's words. Christ, why couldn't Geddy have gone peacefully in his sleep? Losing him would still hurt, sure, but not like this. Maybe that's why Alex still aches after all this time; he's feeling the pain Geddy felt in his final moments.

"Maybe someone tampered with the gas tank," Alex says feebly, finding his voice.

"There was no evidence of that," Neil reminds him.

"There had to be a reason he swerved. Another driver? Could've been a set-up."

"The only person who knows what truly happened that night is Geddy. And he's dead. Do you understand that?"

Alex blinks rapidly to combat the tears welling in his eyes. "Then explain the will thing. That can't just be a coincidence."

"Yeah, it can. Real life doesn't work like the movies where everything's connected. That's why truth is stranger than fiction. Because fiction needs to follow rules."

Alex says nothing. Fury and confusion and overwhelming sadness swirl inside of him.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss anything more," Neil says. "So unless there was something else you wanted to talk about, I really should be going."

"Nothing else," Alex says, fighting the way his voice quivers in his throat. "Sorry to bother you."

Neil sees himself out. Alex sinks into the couch, disheartened and shaken by the conversation. He poked around too closely, like a curious animal sniffing at a bear trap, and the metal jaws snapped shut around him. Neil's vivid description of Geddy's death struck Alex deep in a place he avoids like his life depends on it. Revisiting that will cost him dearly.

Alex reaches the kitchen and pulls from a high cabinet a half-empty bottle of U'Luvka, a Polish vodka he bought Geddy one anniversary as a gag gift and a nod to his heritage. He pours himself a glass over ice, takes a long drink and savors the cold fire that rakes his throat. Alex takes the glass and bottle over to the couch, sinking down in the plush cushions.

In a flare of masochism, Alex lets himself remember his last night with Geddy. It began like any other but ended with Geddy taking him upstairs and devouring Alex like he knew there wouldn't be a tomorrow. His mouth was sweet and hot and supple, his hands gentle, every touch turning Alex's skin fever-hot. Alex had his legs wrapped around him, pulling him in. Geddy murmured, "I want to watch you," and Alex thought that was the hottest thing ever, so of course he let him. They made love twice that night, and Alex remembers thinking that this was just one in a series of many blissful nights he'd get to spend in bed with this beautiful man.

What a fool he used to be.

Alex should have known the lack of struggle in attaining his life with Geddy would come back to bite him eventually. No one gets so lucky as to be plucked from their boring, uneventful life and dropped into one wherein all their wishes are granted without consequence. Their marriage wasn't perfect—like any couple, they argued over both important and inconsequential things—but Alex assumed Kyla's illness was the long-delayed repercussions of his good luck.

He should have known better when the donor saved her life. Like a hapless gambler at a slot machine, Alex tugged the lever once and won a full jackpot. Of course something would come along and lay claim to one of his prizes.

Alex stares into his empty glass and pours himself another.

* * *

"Dad! No no no, you promised!"

There are tears in Kyla's voice, frantic hands shaking Alex's shoulder, and he rises groggily from the couch, his heartbeat a panicked flail in his chest. "What? What's wrong?" he asks, the words leaving his mouth in a half-awake slur.

Kyla's standing over him, between the couch and the coffee table, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. "You idiot." She wipes her eyes and looks away, as though she doesn't want him to see her cry. "You promised you wouldn't..."

It takes Alex a moment to realize how this must look to her. A nearly-empty bottle of vodka, her father passed out face-down on the couch, alone.

Oops.

"It's not what it looks like," Alex says, which isn't the most promising start when explaining away incriminating evidence. "I had a drink or two and fell asleep. You know booze makes me sleepy."

Kyla's chest hitches with quick breaths, adrenaline still quaking through her. "You shouldn't be drinking. Why didn't you call John?"

"Because I make bad decisions," Alex offers with a half-smile, trying to make her laugh and calm her down.

It doesn't work. Her bottom lip quivers, and she just can't hold it back anymore. A sob breaks through. She buries her face in her hands. Alex looks at his daughter and realizes there are parts of his heart still able to be broken.

"I'm sorry. C'mere." Alex guides her onto the couch and into his arms. Kyla buries her face in his shoulder, sobbing. "I'm so sorry. I will never do that to you. I promise."

"Daddy," Kyla whimpers. Alex doesn't know if it's for him or Geddy, but he holds her nonetheless until her crying slows.

* * *

_December 2012_

Alex doesn't remember much of the first six months following Geddy's death, but the one thing he remembers vividly is the reappearance of his childhood best friend, John Rutsey. Growing up they had been neighbors, evolving into the best of friends by age fifteen. Alex developed an embarrassing crush on John, of which he never spoke aloud or made the slightest indication there was anything other than friendship between them, too afraid that speaking up would result in losing his dearest friend. But the rush of first love hit Alex hard. Everything was amplified ten-fold; colors seemed brighter, sounds had more clarity, and foods seemed to taste better.

Alex's first heartbreak came when John's parents moved away to Winnipeg, taking John and Alex's hopes for a future along with them. To further twist the knife, John awkwardly admitted to having a crush on Alex as he left, and that felt like losing him all over again. Alex was sixteen, and he never got over it until he met Geddy and felt the thunderbolt of attraction course through him.

In the forty-plus years since their separation, John had moved back to Toronto and built a life. He had been married, had a daughter Adrian's age, and worked in finance. All those accomplishments, and Alex barely even thought about him, save for during late-night conversations with Geddy about past loves. But people don't stop existing when they're no longer a part of your life. Alex never truly realized that until John showed up three months after Geddy died.

In his youth, John had long hair, an impish smile, and thin limbs. Time had trimmed his hair—along with Alex's own—and put more weight on his frame, but the smile was still there, and for a moment Alex was transported back to the dreamlike haze of his adolescence.

John explained that he'd recently gotten divorced and had Googled Alex out of curiosity, learned he was a freelance painter and that his husband just died, so John waited a while until showing up, afraid of appearing opportunistic in the wake of tragedy.

"Lucky for me you kept your maiden name," John joked, "or else I wouldn't have found you."

Alex didn't have to talk much to John. Listening was all that was really required of him, which Alex appreciated, because it gave him something to focus on that wasn't the trainwreck of his own life. Over time, John caught him up on the last forty or so years and didn't ask for Alex to do the same.

John lived relatively close to Alex, which made it easy to check on him or just stop by for dinner. He never pushed for more than Alex was comfortable with, but Kyla resented John on principle. Alex couldn't bring himself to deal with his daughter's resentment at this point; he was fragile and in pain and John seemed to alleviate some of that.

So John became a regular visitor to the Weinrib-Živojinović household, much to Kyla's silent, fuming protests. But their cautious friendship didn't develop into more until December, when Alex felt the absence of Geddy like a gaping wound in his chest, because it was the season for Christmas and Hanukkah, and it seemed obscene that he wasn't there anymore to spend it with them.

Alex was lost and lonely, so he called John, then he wasn't alone anymore, and things began to escalate, and Alex let it happen, craving companionship like a junkie needing a fix. He cried when it was over, and John shushed him and held him in the bed Alex had shared with Geddy for thirty-six years.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex sits at the bar in The Orbit Room, a cocktail lounge in Toronto's Little Italy district. He called Ray, one of the contacts named in Geddy's address book, and requested a meet a little over an hour ago. Alex checks the clock on his cell phone. Five minutes.

Ray had been a close acquaintance—Alex hesitates to use the word 'friend'—of Geddy's over the last thirty-plus years. He had attended the funeral, been a frequent visitor at the shiva, then was never heard from again, as though those seven days were a debt he owed to Geddy and no one else.

A text from Adrian pops up on Alex's cell: _So John's moving in?_

Kyla must have told him. Despite (or perhaps because of) their fifteen-year age gap, Kyla grew closer to Adrian than Justin, getting to know each other primarily through holidays when the whole family came together. Justin and Adrian aren't so much brothers to Kyla as they are cool older cousins, and Alex often wonders what their relationship may have been like if they'd grown up together.

Alex writes back: _Yeah... Maybe I'm moving too fast, but Kyla didn't want to leave for uni if I was alone._

Almost as an afterthought, he adds: _I like him though._

Adrian: _I'm happy for you. :) He seems cool._

Alex hadn't worried much over how the boys would take the news of John's initiation into the family. They were older, able to understand Alex's need for companionship, and they wouldn't see it as a betrayal of Alex's love for Geddy.

"Alex."

Alex turns, coming face-to-face with Ray Danniels. His grey hair has the texture of a bird's nest, but he looks unchanged from the last time Alex saw him. He's wearing a dark red button-up shirt and black slacks.

"Did you run out of drinking buddies?" Ray asks good-naturedly.

Alex attempts a smile, but the muscles are still weak. "I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel."

Ray laughs a throaty sound. He sits beside Alex and orders a scotch on the rocks. The bartender, a thin, dark-haired girl with a lip ring, pours him his drink and asks Alex if he wants a refill. Alex says sure, takes a long swallow of his second hurricane cocktail.

Ray makes a face. "You still drink that fruity shit?"

"I can't get too fucked up. I'm driving."

"Pussy." Ray had been one of the "regulars" in Geddy's company at La Pasta Strangiato, which is why Alex decided to contact him. Neil may be bound by confidentiality, but Ray ought to have no such discretion.

Alex jostles the ice in his glass. He doesn't see much point in small talk. "Do you know what Geddy did for a living?"

Ray cocks a bushy eyebrow. "He kept his mouth shut, huh?"

"It would seem so."

"You know he's dead, right?"

"So everyone keeps telling me," Alex grumbles. "But I don't like mysteries."

Ray shifts in his chair, settles in. "Geddy worked as a legal advisor for our organization."

That's more than he got out of Neil, at least. "What did you guys do? Geddy used to mention 'the old man.' I'm assuming he was your boss?"

"He _was_ ," Ray says, scratching his beard.

"He retired?"

"He died. Some rat fuck shot him."

"Oh." Alex isn't sure what to say. "So who runs the show now?"

"You're talkin' to him."

"Oh, uh, congratulations."

Ray waves off the praise. "It hasn't been easy. I've made a lot of mistakes." He stares into his glass, wistful. "Ged would've been a better fit. But the Old Man named me his successor instead."

"How did Geddy fall in with you guys?"

"He got in during a reconstruction period," Ray says, carefully measuring his words. "His father owned that deli, remember? Had the best chicken parm in the city. Geddy hung out there, helping his dad around the place, and I came in a lot, so we got to know each other. After his dad died, he was a mess. He'd been studying to go to law school like his brother, but he was torn between that and running the deli himself. So I told him to come work for my boss. We had an opening, on account of Paulie drinking himself to death. We needed someone smart, and the Old Man liked the stereotype of a Jewish lawyer. So Geddy went to school while he worked for us, earned his degree, kept everything on the up-and-up."

Alex takes another drink, mulling this over.

"It's all about who you know," Ray says with a shrug.

Geddy told Alex an abridged version of this story before, and Alex is glad to hear there's not too much discrepancy between the tales.

"So back to my original question: what exactly did you guys do?"

"Construction. Geddy ironed out all the legal shit: permits and zoning and whatnot. The rest of us were engineers or surveyors or site managers. The Old Man owned a bunch of development companies all over Canada."

 _So why didn't Geddy just tell me that,_ Alex wonders. Why had he been so secretive for so long? Why did he leave and return to the house at odd hours? Alex recalls multiple late nights where Geddy received phone calls from work and almost immediately headed out to tend to business. If his consultation was needed, couldn't he have given it over the phone?

Alex chuckles to himself. "I was expecting something more exciting after forty years."

"Weren't we all," Ray says. He swallows down the rest of his drink and slaps a few bills on the counter.

As Ray rises to leave, Alex asks, "Why did you stop coming by? After the shiva you just... disappeared."

Ray shrugs. "You're a nice guy and all, but my loyalty was to Geddy. And, hey, you could'a picked up a phone."

With that, he leaves, and Alex somehow feels more helpless than he had when he came in. He turns back to the bar, toying with the skewer of pineapple and cherries in his drink. He suspects Ray is lying, or at least covering something up, but he doesn't know what exactly. And if Ray was involved in Geddy's death, Alex can't afford to tip him off too much. There's no way of knowing who to trust here, or if this whole murder conspiracy is all in Alex's head.

"Mind if we join you?"

Alex looks up and over his shoulder. A tall man wearing thin-rimmed glasses and an open-collared shirt stands beside a thirty-something woman with dull red hair and a suit jacket over a white blouse.

"No, I was just leaving," Alex says, digging through his pockets for his wallet.

"Actually," the woman says, her teeth blindingly white as she smiles disarmingly, "we were hoping we could talk to you."

Alex spots the glint of a police badge peeking from underneath her jacket, holstered like a gun on the waist of her slacks.

Cops.

Alex tries to clamp down on his paranoia. He hasn't done anything wrong. The only questionable thing he's done lately is discover the money in the crawlspace, and it's not like he has solid proof that money is dirty. This might be nothing at all.

"Okay, sure."

They sit on either side of him, blocking him in, and order Diet Cokes from the bartender. "I'm Detective Cecconi," the woman says, introducing herself. "This is my partner, Detective Wilson."

Wilson nods hello, and both of them display their badges. Alex doesn't see the point; how hard can it be to fake those?

"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Cecconi says. "How well do you know Ray Danniels?"

Don't panic.

There's a reason they're asking about Ray. If Alex admits Ray was an associate of Geddy's, he could implicate Geddy in something sketchy as well. Even though Geddy is dead, it doesn't seem appropriate to drag him through the mud like that.

"We used to know each other," Alex says. "Thought we'd catch up."

"An awful short visit," Wilson interjects.

Of course they were watching him. Stupid.

"We'd very much like to know the nature of your conversation with Mr. Danniels."

"Why?"

"Mr. Danniels is the subject of an ongoing investigation."

Alex considers that from all angles. Is Ray a suspect in Geddy's death? What about the Old Man? Ray mentioned he'd been second-in-command; maybe he got a little power-hungry and impatient and decided to off his boss.

"Pertaining to what, exactly?" Alex wonders. "Did he kill someone?"

Cecconi sips her Diet Coke. "No one's interested in making trouble here." She must be the good cop. "We'd really appreciate your cooperation."

"I'd like to know what I'm potentially getting into. If he killed someone and I give you information, who's to say he won't come after me next?"

Cecconi deliberates this for a moment.

"Don't be rude, asshole," Wilson says, a scowl etched onto his face. "You should want to cooperate with an investigation because it's the right thing to do. Getting dodgy makes you look suspicious as hell."

Definitely bad cop.

Cecconi shoots her partner a look, then shifts her gaze to Alex. "Mr. Danniels is under surveillance. We have information that suggests he's a high-ranking member of an organized crime ring."

Alex feels something akin to a head rush, but laughter bubbles out of him. There's an edge of hysteria to it as her words sink in. "I'm sorry, what?"

"We've been watching him for about a year now, ever since the murder of Rocco Caravino. Our theory is Caravino was killed by a rival crime family—shot in the kneecaps and the back of the head, the Giannottis' MO—and since then the two groups have been at war."

Hadn't Ray mentioned something about his boss getting shot?

"Sounds like they might just end up killing each other off," Alex says.

"We don't want that to happen," Wilson cuts in, sounding like he thinks Alex is the biggest idiot in the entire world. "We want to make arrests and bring down these crime syndicates. Can't do that if they're all dead."

Alex's heart beats in his temples. "I don't understand what I have to do with all this."

"Danniels is usually a loner. We think he might know he's being watched. Sometimes he loses us. But he has a group of usual suspects he meets with. You're the outlier," Wilson explains. His voice is chilling, and he seems to be staring right through Alex.

"You think I'm involved?"

"You tell us."

"I think I need a lawyer."

"Why? We're just talking," Wilson says.

"Sounded like you accused me of being a member of the mafia."

"You're not under arrest," Cecconi says, trying to get back into Alex's good graces. "We just want to know what you talked about."

Alex feels the room shrink, feels the walls closing in. No choice now. "My husband. Ray knew him a long time ago."

"Do you think he'd be willing to talk to us?"

"He's dead," Alex says, detached, robotic, as though reading from a script.

Cecconi looks momentarily chagrined. "I'm sorry to hear that. How did your husband know Mr. Danniels?"

"Geddy worked in his father's deli when he was a teenager. Ray was a frequent customer. They were friends. They drifted apart. It happens."

Cecconi takes another sip of Coke. She seems to be thinking this over. "Do you think Mr. Danniels would meet with you again?"

"Why?"

"We need a man on the inside," Wilson says, picking up that train of thought for her. "It's too risky bringing in a whole new person into their operation, building up trust with the suspects and all. Those guys are trained to sniff out cops. But if Danniels already trusts you—"

Alex sees where they're headed with this. "No. No way."

"You don't even know what we're asking."

"You want me to wear a wire and meet with him again and hopefully he'll be stupid enough to say something incriminating. There's really no reason for him to meet me again. The only link we had to each other is dead. There's nothing there. He'll be suspicious. And, I'm sorry, but if this guy is as dangerous as you think, I can't put my life at risk for your investigation. I have a daughter at home. She's already lost one parent."

Cecconi nods, backing off pretty easily. Good cop all the way through. "I understand. I have children myself." She reaches into the pocket of her blazer and withdraws a business card with her name and phone number. "If you change your mind, or if you think of anything that might be helpful, give us a call."

Alex takes the card, tries to keep his hands from shaking. He mumbles a polite disconnect from the conversation and leaves money on the counter. When he reaches the safety of his car he lets himself panic, blood surging in his veins, his heart banging against his ribs as everything he thought he knew blows out like a tire on the freeway.

Amazing how you can be so blind to the truth, even when it's staring you right in the face, whispering in your ear like a ghost.

* * *

_September 1987_

"How come he didn't show up?"

Alex drove the boys home. Justin played shortstop on his school's baseball team, and he'd been excited for Geddy—the Weinrib-Živojinović household's resident baseball fanatic—to see him in action. Adrian didn't make the team, but he liked watching his brother play and talking sports with Geddy.

But of course Geddy had prior obligations. Of course he left in a hurry after getting a phone call during dinner. Of course he'd promised the boys he'd make it to their game.

Alex sighed. They'd been down this road before. Geddy had missed a number of school events (fucking forget Career Day; Alex always showed up instead and taught the class how to paint Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse) and countless family movie nights. Justin and Adrian seemed to understand that Geddy was generally unreliable when it came to keeping promises pertaining to his attendance, but they were nine and seven years old respectively, so they hoped against hope that today would be the day he surprised them by keeping a promise, and it still hurt them when he didn't show.

"Because he has to work," Alex said, hearing how lame that sounded in his own ears.

"So?" Justin whined. "He promised."

"I don't think he knew he'd be gone this long." Alex tightened his grip on the steering wheel. How dare Geddy put him in this position time after time, forcing Alex to make excuses for inexcusable behavior.

"Is it 'cause he's not our real dad?" Justin asked.

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody. But in health class they said two guys can't have a baby, so there's only one dad, and we don't look like Pop, so that means you're our real dad."

Alex smothered a laugh at the precocious logic. "Genetics is a pretty complicated subject, buddy. You're not wrong, but just 'cause you don't share his DNA doesn't mean he loves you any less."

"Then how come he never keeps his promises?"

Alex felt something reach inside his chest and squeeze his heart. "I don't know," he finally said after a moment. "But whatever the reason, it doesn't have anything to do with either of you. It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

Did they believe him? Hard to tell. Alex didn't know how many more times they'd have this conversation, or at least a version of it, in the future.

After they got home, Alex let them have ice cream as a celebratory treat for Justin's team winning the game, then managed to get them washed up and in bed before midnight.

While Alex showered, he thought about Geddy's broken promises. They'd been together for eleven years now. Alex always knew there was a shroud of secrecy around Geddy, and he'd spent a lot of nights waiting up for him until exhaustion took over. If Geddy needed to spend all this time at the office or wherever he worked, fine, but it wasn't fair to make promises he knew were broken the moment they left his mouth.

By the time Alex was showered and in his pajamas Geddy was already home, unlatching his wristwatch over the bureau.

"You're home," Alex said, not really sure why. It seemed like a good start.

Geddy looked at him, apology etched on his brow. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. It was a bigger mess than I thought."

"The boys missed you. Did you see them?"

"Yeah, of course."

Alex could see neither Justin nor Adrian told Geddy their concerns, instead fawning over him with adoration and excited chatter about the game.

"So what was so important you had to miss your son's game?" Alex asked. He hated how confrontational and accusatory that sounded, but it already left his mouth.

Geddy made a pained expression and turned towards him. "We got screwed on a job. I had to come in and sort everything out."

Alex didn't want to bother untangling that, so he focused on the more important matter. "You can't keep promising your kids you'll do things and then not follow through. It isn't fair to them."

"I know. I'm sorry. I won't—"

"You have to be better."

"I never knew—I thought they understood. They didn't say anything about it tonight."

"Of course not," Alex sighed, exasperated that Geddy was so oblivious. "They won't get mad at you because they're afraid of driving you away. So they tell me, and I end up being the bad guy." He couldn't blame them. They were just kids, worried their father's absence was the result of something they'd done wrong or failed to do at all.

Alex moved closer, hoping to diffuse the confrontational nature of their conversation. He slid his hands up Geddy's arms, fingers curled around his elbows. "You don't have to work so hard. We don't need more money. We could live in a trailer. I don't care."

Geddy looked crestfallen, and something about his expression terrified Alex. His veins turned to ice.

"Oh." Alex stepped back, realizing he may have misread this whole thing. If he looked at this coldly and put aside his own personal feelings about Geddy's integrity, how would their situation read? "Is it—is it me? If all this work stuff is just smoke and mirrors so you can cheat on me, please be honest."

Geddy's eyes widened.

"I know I've gained some weight over the last couple years, and I can be a real jerk sometimes, but if that's what this is—"

Geddy stopped Alex's panicked flow of words with a gentle touch. "It's not. I swear. There's no one else but you."

Even in this moment of uncertainty and anxiety, those words still made Alex's stomach flip-flop. He felt his face heat up, tried to fight the smile threatening to spread on his mouth.

Geddy tangled his fingers with Alex's own. "Our company hired a contractor who used the wrong materials. His license expired a month or two after the deal was finished, and his insurance was already lapsed when he started working for us, so no money to cover damages. His policy documents were faked; we basically got screwed. So I had to figure out what course of action we could take, while making sure it doesn't blow up in our faces or attract too much attention. It was the most unerotic thing you could imagine."

Geddy kept the details of his job as closely guarded as the government protects nuclear launch codes, so Alex felt there was truth to his explanation. "Okay. I believe you. I just... I have to consider everything, y'know? I mean, the most obvious explanation for why a spouse leaves at odd hours is usually an affair. I didn't want you to think I was an idiot."

Geddy stood on his tiptoes so he could kiss Alex's forehead. "No, you're brilliant. And I would never cheat on you. I fell in love with you the moment I met you. I knew you were gonna be the person I'd spend the rest of my life with."

Alex couldn't stop the grin from forming on his lips. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely." Geddy squeezed Alex's fingers. "Why don't I take the boys tomorrow? You deserve a break."

"Sounds perfect," Alex said, stealing a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex is still shaking when he makes it home. His body's on fire. He might actually throw up.

Just this morning life had appeared to be one way, but one little conversation turned everything upside down, and Alex doesn't know what to believe anymore.

All those nights Geddy left after receiving phone calls. The money he threw around like it was nothing. The secrecy shrouding what he actually did for a living. The journal filled with cryptic names and numbers. The suspicious injuries.

Could Geddy really have been involved with the mafia?

Alex's first instinct is to deny it with every fiber in his being. Not his Geddy. Geddy was the kindest, gentlest man he knew. Alex can't imagine the same hands that touched him with such tenderness inflicting pain on someone else. The image simply won't hold.

But the evidence is too overwhelming, stacked into neat piles Alex would have to be a fool to deny. And he'd been a fool for thirty-six years, sticking his head in the sand like an ostrich, too selfish to question how Geddy provided the lavish, perfect life from which Alex and the children benefited greatly.

Christ, they're all tainted by this. All that dirty money spread across their bank accounts. Paying for Kyla's tuition. Sitting in trust funds for the grandchildren. Buying Adrian and Justin new cars or additions to their homes. A quarter-million in a bag stuffed inside the bedroom closet.

What do you do when you find out your entire life has been a lie?

Alex stares through the windshield at his front door, at John's old-as-balls, practical Ford Taurus parked on the street. Jesus, _John_. What the fuck is Alex going to tell him? It doesn't seem fair to keep John in the dark about dating a potential accessory to organized crime, but it seems worse to tell him this after he's already begun moving in with said accessory. Like he's Charlie Brown racing towards the football only to have it yanked away from him.

But if the police are investigating Ray Danniels, it's only a matter of time before they uncover Geddy's involvement. Even Alex doesn't know how detailed that involvement might be. Was Geddy high up on the mafia ladder like Marlon Brando in The Godfather?

Shit, he probably was. He stayed with the "family" (do traditional mob families even exist anymore, Alex wonders) for at least thirty years. Odds are he got a promotion at some point.

So there's no way Alex won't get dragged into this. Now that the cops know there's a connection between Alex and Ray, he'll have a hard time pleading ignorance to Geddy's indiscretions.

Meeting with Ray was a bone-headed move. But how the fuck was Alex supposed to know where it would lead? _Goddamn it, Geddy, why couldn't you have been honest?_

Alex manages to get his skipping heart under control and exits the car. Inside the house, John is in the kitchen making a sandwich; Alex spies zero meats and, thus, has zero interest. "Hey," John says as Alex moves closer. "If you're hungry, I can make you something. And, no, it won't be 'rabbit food garbage." He rolls his eyes, his lips pursed in coy fondness.

"I think I'll pass."

"Well, if you change your mind—" John stops talking when he actually gets a look at Alex. "Are you okay? You're pale. Like, sexy-vampire pale."

"Is there a difference from non-sexy vampires?"

"I was trying to hit on you through my concern." John smiles, reaches out a hand to touch Alex's face. "You sure you're okay?"

"Just a little nauseous," Alex says, which is true. "I'll go lie down for a bit."

John's still watching him with worried eyes, studying him, and Alex feels scrutinized, fearful that John will suss out the real reason behind his clammy skin. But there's embarrassment too, because John watches his diet and keeps himself in shape, while Alex has the physique of a stay-at-home dad. It's possible John sees this as a glaring symptom of Alex's overall poor health.

"I'm fine. Honestly."

"You certainly are," John teases, patting his arms. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Sure." Alex climbs the stairs and, when he makes it into the bedroom, locks the door behind him. There are four moving boxes pushed off to the side of the room near the window, giving Alex pause.

John is moving in with him.

Tangible proof that life goes on.

Alex shakes off the wave of sadness and digs through the closet in a panicked frenzy, searching for John's latest additions. If John put anything in here, he may have stumbled upon the duffel bag of cash. Alex can't let him see that until he has a perfectly reasonable explanation for why it exists.

The bag is still stashed away in a dark corner. Alex heaves it out and chooses its new hiding spot: underneath the bed. John is too tidy and organized to hide things there, and Alex has stowed away enough junk under the bed that adding anything else is unwise.

It's a tight fit, but the bag goes, wedged between a box of books and Geddy's baseball memorabilia.

Alex picks himself up off the floor and crawls onto the bed. He doesn't imagine he'll sleep well, since his heart's about to leap out of his chest, but lying there he finds himself calming, as though his resolve is caving in. He feels a unique type of exhaustion that comes from futility and fuck-ups, the utter demoralization of defeat. He closes his eyes and falls into blackness.

* * *

Alex wakes up an hour later and makes dinner. The three of them eat at the table, with Toffee prowling around their feet, hoping for scraps. Kyla tries to make polite conversation with John. It's stilted and awkward, but she's trying, and Alex thinks that's a cause for optimism.

After a shower, Alex tries to stay awake long enough for some quality time with John, but he's too exhausted, as though the mental blows he's taken today require as much recuperation as physical ones.

Alex wakes the next morning to John's sleeping form curled against him, his cheek resting on Alex's chest. John looks almost angelic lying underneath the golden glow of the sun, and a pang of melancholy strikes Alex. He doesn't love John the same way he loves Geddy, but that doesn't mean he couldn't, or that there's nothing here between them. They had loved each other fiercely before, in the years when emotions were at their peak. There's a reason John sought him out after all this time. A reason why Alex didn't push him away—and still hasn't.

John has an arm slung over Alex's middle in a protective sort of way. Alex brushes his fingertips over John's arm, tracing the faint definition of muscle. John stirs, and Alex almost jerks away, as though he's been caught doing something horrible.

John smiles at him. Something stirs in Alex's chest. "Were you watching me sleep? Perv."

Alex smiles back, feels a tear inside of him, like peeling off a scab. "What can I say? You're hot."

"Flattery this early?" John smirks.

"It's the truth." Alex pushes a hand through John's dark hair, his fingers weaving through the spot that, on his own head, has begun to bald. Okay, so his hair started retreating when he was in his thirties. John, meanwhile, has had some pretty good fortune in the hair department, while Alex's head looks like an egg wearing a dried-grass hula skirt.

Jealous? No way.

"I'm sorry I don't say it more often," Alex continues, "but I do love you, at least, as much as I'm capable of right now."

"If you want a blowjob, just come out and say it. We're adults."

Alex gives him a playful shove. "I'm being serious."

"I know." John pushes a hand underneath Alex's t-shirt, his palm spreading over the hot skin. "That's what I've always loved about you. You were never afraid to say how you felt, even if it was corny. You're sweet and open and honest."

Alex hears the "lub-dub" sound of his heartbeat in his ears, guilt manifesting in the rush of blood. He hasn't told John about the money or Geddy's possibly shady past. And he especially doesn't want to now, because for just these few moments Alex has felt happy, or at least as happy as he's been in a while. Putting aside the chaos and discord of the past couple days feels good, damn it, and he wants it to last as long as possible.

John skims his hand up Alex's chest. His fingers drag in a gnarl of hair. "If I suck your cock again, will you at least try to be into it?"

"You've got a pretty good head start," Alex says, wiggling his hips so John can feel the morning erection straining in his sweatpants.

John gives him a sly look. "Was that a pun?"

"Absolutely."

John shakes his head with a grin, murmurs something that sounds like, "I fuckin' love you," as he crawls down Alex's body, dropping kisses as he goes.

Alex stops him before he slides off the foot of the bed. "Wait. I want—I want more."

John pauses, meets his gaze. "No shit?"

"Is that something you want? I mean, if you need some time to limber up—"

"I'm not the one who has to be flexible."

After minimal teasing, John is inside of him, and Alex shakes, his focus centered on the slick, hot length filling him up. It's been a while since they've done this, and Alex has forgotten how unlike Geddy John is in bed. He's not afraid to get a little rough, to shove in deep and quick, to grab the padded headboard for more force. Alex takes it all, open and grateful, his hands clutching John's back as their hips work in clumsy tandem.

In these short yet infinite moments of hot gasps and thrusts and kisses, Alex forgets the mess his life has become and gives himself over to sensation. John's touch is electric, warming him from the inside out, and he nips at Alex's lips through their kisses. Almost unexpectedly, Alex comes, spurting hot over his belly as pleasure ripples through him. John makes a helpless noise and follows him. Alex rumbles a hungry moan, satisfied by the sudden bloom of sticky heat inside of him. They're panting and gasping and holding onto each other, and Alex wants to hang on to the tail end of bliss and let it carry him away a little while longer.

Alex sighs and lies there, experiencing a rare moment of contentment. John settles on top of him; he's feeling it too. He snakes out an arm, tracing the line of Alex's own until their fingers tangle. He never mentions that Alex still wears his wedding ring. For some reason, this omission hurts, like John has resigned himself to second place in Alex's heart.

Or maybe he just doesn't want Alex feeling like he has to choose.

"That was intense," John says, catching his breath.

Alex didn't really do anything, but he's not going to refuse a compliment about his sexual prowess. "I've had a lot of practice."

"And practice makes perfect." John smirks, his free hand toying with Alex's nipple.

"No such thing as perfect," Alex realizes.

John sighs in exertion. "Tell that to my cock."

Alex smiles to himself, carding a hand through John's hair again.

A knock on the door interrupts this peaceful moment, and Alex is shoved back into the confusing tangle of his life. "Pop?" Kyla's voice sounds through the closed door. "Can you come down? Some cops wanna talk to you."

Alex's veins turn to ice. Horror coats his throat so he can barely speak. "Uh, okay,"

he manages. "Just a sec."

"Cops?" John says, curious as he moves so Alex can get up. "Are you going around exposing yourself?" He jokes because he cannot fathom the idea of Alex doing anything wrong.

It takes Alex a moment to find the appropriate teasing tone. "Yeah, that's why my closet's full of trenchcoats."

Suddenly, he is stricken by a realization that John cannot be in here, or else he might discover the money hidden underneath the bed. That goddamn money, the tell-tale heart thumping underneath the floorboards. The money started all of this. If he'd never found it, he wouldn't have gone poking at the sleeping bear of Geddy's past. Now the bear has awakened, and he's furious.

Alex finds his pajamas on the floor and gets dressed, trying to calm the quake in his limbs. "Want me to come with you?" John asks. He has no idea what's about to happen, the grenade about to explode in the middle of their lives.

Alex almost shouts, "No!"

"Uh, you don't have to. It's probably no big deal."

"Alright, I'll get washed up then," John says, heading into the bathroom. Alex watches John's perfect ass disappear as the door shuts, and he lingers until he hears the shower running.

John trusts him so much. Too much.

With his heart banging against his ribs like a bird in too small a cage, Alex heads downstairs.

Detectives Cecconi and Wilson are standing in the living room. Wilson is studying the pictures and knick-knacks on the mantel, and Cecconi is talking with Kyla about school. Kyla gives the typical evasive teenage answers, looking like she'd rather be having teeth pulled.

Cecconi looks up when she sees Alex enter the room. "Oh, there you are, Mr—"

Alex stops her with a hand. No need for her to stumble over his obstacle course of a surname. "Just Alex is fine."

"Well, Alex, I'm sure you remember us from yesterday," Cecconi says. "Do you mind if we speak with you?"

Alex hesitates, looking at Kyla. He doesn't want her hearing this. "Give us a minute?"

Kyla groans. "But—"

"Please?"

Something registers with her, and her expression shifts, as though she senses this is serious. "Fine," Kyla sighs and sulks up the stairs. Alex waits until he hears her bedroom door shut before looking at the detectives.

"Alright, let's talk."

Wilson steps away from the mantel, and Alex notices he's holding a manila folder in one hand. "You remember our conversation from yesterday about how we're investigating Ray Danniels?"

Alex wants to say something snarky about how his memory isn't that awful, but fear keeps his throat locked tight, so all he can do is nod.

"We're also looking into his known associates." Wilson moves closer, opening the manila folder so Alex can see three grainy mugshots of scowling men. "Terry Brown. Liam Birt. Bill Banasiewicz. Any of those names ring a bell?"

Alex shakes his head, repeats something Geddy used to say during their arguments. "Not to my knowledge."

"Those three men had a handful of summary conviction offences and some indictable offences between them." Wilson's stare bores into Alex. Alex almost looks away, but he doesn't want to appear guilty. "Guess who was their attorney of record?"

Alex doesn't speak. He knows the answer, but it can't be true.

"Your husband."

"What are you trying to say? Do lawyers represent shady people sometimes? Sure. It's their job," Alex argues.

"That's the thing. We couldn't find any record of your husband being a partner in a law firm or even owning one. We did, however, find his name on the deeds for a dive bar and a restaurant."

"What?"

Wilson holds out the folder. "See for yourself."

Alex takes the folder, flips through until he finds the documents Wilson's referring to. According to these deeds, Geddy had ownership, at least in part, of The Orbit Room and La Pasta Strangiato.

"None of this is illegal, is it?" Alex asks.

"Not illegal," Cecconi says. "But it's unusual. We looked into your husband's income and tax records, and it seems most of his income came from these business' profits. There were legal fees here and there, but predominantly he seemed to give you and your kids a pretty good life just from that."

Alex feels the walls caving in. "I don't understand what you're after here. I don't know these people. They were just clients, right? If Geddy knew them beyond that, he might have invited them over for a barbecue or two, but I don't know enough about them to help you."

"So they were here?" Wilson says.

Alex rolls his eyes. "Geddy and I were married over thirty years. Am I supposed to remember every single person he talked about or brought to the house?"

Cecconi switches tactics. "Interestingly enough, your husband's ownership of The Orbit Room was a joint ownership, meaning it immediately transferred to someone else when he died. That someone is Terry Brown."

"Still not ringing any bells," Alex says with a shrug. "All these questions would be better suited for Geddy, but he's dead. So this is kinda pointless, don't you think?"

Wilson takes this one. "How much do you know about what your husband did for a living?"

"I didn't ask a lot of questions." Alex wonders if it's worth throwing the blame onto Geddy, since a dead man is invulnerable to prosecution. But would those charges and accusations bounce back onto Alex and the kids? If Geddy was a major player in this crime organization, the police will want their pound of flesh. And if they can't take it from Geddy...

"So you were married over thirty years and never knew where he went every day?" There's a thread of derison in Wilson's voice, and Alex doesn't like it. "That didn't strike you as odd?"

"He told me he was a lawyer, and that he did a bunch of boring legal stuff. He didn't bring up what he did at work each day, and I didn't ask. We had plenty of other stuff to talk about."

"Don't bullshit. Thirty-plus years, there's gotta be something. Weird phone calls, suspiciously late nights, strange injuries."

It hits Alex that they must have a theory. They wouldn't come here just to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks. But once a theory is formed, it's hard, if not impossible, to keep someone from twisting facts to suit what they already believe. "I'm sorry, what is it you think Geddy did?"

"He's a mob lawyer," Wilson says. "Those restaurants are money-laundering fronts, and in all likelihood Weinrib's been using dirty money since the day you two met."

Alex feels his pulse quicken. He wonders why Wilson's being so aggressive all of a sudden, until he realizes they're counting on Alex slipping up. If they had any evidence of these claims, Alex would be in handcuffs right now, or at least in those plastic zip-tie things.

"That's a nice story. Do you have any proof?"

"We're still collecting evidence," Cecconi says, almost defusing the bomb lit by Wilson. "But your husband's association with these suspects is, well, suspect."

Alex frowns. "Cute."

"On top of that," Wilson adds, "your ignorance about your spouse's job of thirty-plus years reeks of suspicion."

"Gee, maybe I trusted him and didn't need to know where he was at all times."

"What about your daughter? Do you think she might know something—"

"Absolutely not," Alex snaps. The idea of Kyla hearing these awful, ugly allegations about her father, the man she adored more than anything or anyone, fills Alex with rage. No, the preposterous nature of this entire visit infuriates him. How dare they come into his house to sling mud on the memory of the dead, to attempt implicating Alex in whatever crimes Geddy may or may not have been party to.

"Am I under arrest?" Alex finally asks.

"No, but—"

"Then I think you should leave."

Alex is still burning as the detectives exit through the front door. Unable to rid himself of his anger, he occupies his hands by making breakfast. John comes downstairs a few minutes later. His body is still damp from the shower, his t-shirt sticking to his form, his jeans snug around his thighs, and Alex thinks about pushing him against the counter and blowing him. But that would probably be the moment Kyla chooses to come downstairs, and Alex really doesn't want her seeing that, so he resists the impulse.

"So what'd the cops want?" John asks. His face is a bit flushed, either from the hot water or exertion.

Alex opens his mouth, his first instinct to weave a convincing lie, but isn't that the reason he's torn up about Geddy's past? Lying is exactly what Geddy did with Alex, so maybe Alex should cut him some slack. Or at least break the cycle of deception and tell John the truth in this moment before things snowball and become too daunting to speak of.

"I, uh..." Alex takes a breath. "They think Geddy was involved in organized crime."

John snorts a laugh. "Okay, sure."

Alex can't tell if John's laughing at the allegations or if he thinks Alex is making a joke. "The scary thing is it kinda makes sense, and I guess that's why I haven't been myself the last few days. I've been going over it in my head, remembering things that seemed weird but got lost to time."

"Does it matter? I mean, could anything he did come back and hurt you or the kids?"

How sweet that John doesn't even consider himself in that scenario. Of course, it would be a ridiculous stretch for the police to implicate John in all of this, but still.

Alex shakes his head. "I don't think so. Honest to God, I didn't know anything. I still don't. Not really." Should he mention the money? Probably not. John might try to convince him to turn it in, and handing over evidence like that would definitely implicate Alex in something.

Best to sit on it for a while, save it for the next time they need kindling for a fire.

Kyla comes downstairs to join them. "Can I come out now?" she asks, clearly not needing permission but asking regardless.

"You live here too," Alex says. "You can pretty much do whatever you want."

"Except be in the same room when you're talking to the cops." She reaches the kitchen, her and John sort of barricading Alex against the counter. "What'd they want?"

Alex and John share a brief glance, and it seems understood that they will soften the truth for her. "I thought I saw a burglary yesterday. They just came by to confirm some details."

Kyla's brow furrows, as though she suspects a lie but can't be certain.

"I didn't want to scare you," Alex says, feeling compelled to explain. "But it ended up being nothing."

She doesn't seem convinced, but she lets it go, almost as if she is used to hearing lies, and that makes Alex's insides crumble in a whole new way.

* * *

_May 2009_

Kyla had been ill for six months, or at least that's when Alex and Geddy noticed her symptoms. She'd accidentally bump the kitchen island with her hip and have a bruise the size of a grapefruit the next morning. A simple task like unloading the dishwasher left her short of breath, as though she'd run ten minutes on a treadmill. The largest red flag came during the holiday season when she'd been helping Alex decorate the living room. After bringing out box after box of garland and ornaments, she fell down like a marionette with its strings cut. She had anticipated the fall, landing on her knees, her palms skidding over the hardwood as she tried to brace herself.

Alex was at her side immediately. "You alright?" He looked around, trying to figure out what she may have tripped over, but there was no obvious culprit. Toffee was fast asleep on the sofa, so he couldn't have gotten underfoot. Kyla wasn't wearing shoes, just colorful socks, so no laces to trip over. She hadn't reached the floor rug yet either.

Kyla shook her head, slowly moving so she was sitting. She wore cutoff shorts, and dark bruises were already developing on her knees. "Something's wrong with me," she said, sounding scared. "I feel drunk."

And Alex knew she wasn't, knew the oddities over the last week or so foreshadowed a serious problem, so he took her to the hospital, where the doctors ran tests and diagnosed her with Fanconi anemia. The doctor told Alex and Geddy that, unless Kyla received a bone marrow transplant, her condition was terminal, that it would be a matter of time before she contracted a life-threatening infection or cancer, that this condition commonly turns into acute myelogenous leukemia.

And it seemed such a slap in the face to discover this during the holiday season, during a time when families are supposed to be together and happy and, for just a little while, live in a protective bubble of warmth and cheer. But, no, twenty days before Christmas they learned their daughter would die without a life-saving transplant.

They were hopeful during the first month. They treated her with hormones and growth factors (which, the doctors reminded them, were temporary treatments, not a cure), sent her to school like normal, but she had to sit out of gym class indefinitely. The donor registry had zero matches for Kyla's unusual mixed blood, but it was only the first month. Surely the kind-hearted nature of the holiday season would inspire someone to give Kyla the gift of life.

Two months passed, then three, then half a year, and Kyla was back in the hospital after collapsing between classes. She'd hit her head during the fall, and the doctors wanted to keep her overnight to make sure she didn't have a concussion.

Kyla didn't like that. "I wanna go home," she whined. "The food sucks here."

Alex wondered if Kyla truly grasped what was happening to her, if she knew how serious her condition was. She was still naive enough to believe wholeheartedly in her parents' infallibility, especially Geddy.

"Maybe I can bring you something from home," Alex said.

She looked at Geddy, imploring. "Tell them I'm okay and I don't need to stay overnight. Please?"

"No can do, kiddo. But I'll stay with you," Geddy said. Both of them knew she didn't want to be alone.

That seemed to satisfy her, if even only a little. She shifted on the mattress and reached for her backpack, even though it was sitting on the far end of the room. "Can I have my phone?"

Alex was closest, so he brought her bag over and set it on the bed. Kyla dug through until she found her cell phone. She popped in the earbuds and began tapping away at the screen.

Alex laid a hand on Geddy's shoulder, squeezing a bit, as though trying to siphon his pain. "She'll be okay," he murmured.

Geddy didn't take his eyes off her, and Alex saw the silent devastation on his face. "She has no idea."

"Hey, hey, c'mon. This isn't impossible. There's a cure out there. We just need to find it."

"You don't understand," Geddy said softly. "I already failed the boys—"

"No, you didn't."

Geddy held up a hand to silence his protest. "Just... let me finish. I already failed the boys by not being there as much as I should have. I can't fail her too. What kind of father does that?"

"Ged, there's another option. It's a bit of a long shot, but if you and Kyla's mother conceive again, there's a twenty-five percent chance the baby will be a match."

Of course, Geddy knew this, because he'd been in the room when the doctor told Alex.

"And what if Kyla doesn't last until that bone marrow is usable?" Geddy made a disgusted noise in his throat. "We're too old to raise another child, and it wouldn't be fair to bring a baby into the world just to harvest his bone marrow. We wanted the boys, and we wanted Kyla. But this... we'd just want what this unborn baby could provide for our daughter. All well and good if it's a match, but if not..." He rose from the chair. "I need a minute."

Kyla looked up from her phone, tugging a white headphone bud out of her ear. "You said you were gonna stay."

Geddy gave her an 'everything's alright' smile, but Alex could see the cracks. "I'm just getting a drink. Do you want anything?"

"Orange soda?"

"Okay," Geddy said, slipping out of the room.

When he returned thirty minutes later, he brought orange soda and news of a matching donor.

In hindsight, Geddy must have worked some mafia magic there, but at the time Alex just assumed their luck had turned, that they had been blessed with a miracle. Within a week, the marrow was harvested from the anonymous donor, and Kyla went through brief chemotherapy sessions to kill off her own already weakened marrow in preparation for the transplant.

She had protested at first, not wanting to lose her hair to chemotherapy.

"You and Alex will have something in common," Geddy had joked, and Alex had laughed, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Geddy smile or crack a joke.

Kyla wasn't convinced.

"If your hair falls out, you can get a wig in any color you want. Even pink."

She'd thought about it for a moment before agreeing. Kids.

For Kyla, the hardest part had been the first two weeks of transplant, because she was kept in an isolated, sterile environment while being infused with the new marrow through an IV. She complained about being bored, about missing her parents, but she seemed to understand the gravity of what was happening. When she finally went home with Alex and Geddy, they let her dye her hair pink. Why the hell not?


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast, Alex considers his options. With the investigation into Ray Danniels, Alex is almost certain there's more to Geddy's death than meets the eye. Could Geddy have known something so dangerous that the Caravino family's only choice was to eliminate him? Or could a rival family—the Giannottis—have killed Geddy and the Old Man, inciting a mob war?

If the Giannottis were the cause, speaking with Geddy's associates might be helpful. But if the killer was someone in the Caravinos, everyone is a suspect and shouldn't be trusted. Plus, it's safe to assume the cops are watching Alex to see if he meets with anyone on their suspect list. During the time they spent in his home, they could have planted listening devices to overhear any phone conversations.

So it's probably not safe to reach out to anyone associated with the Caravinos.

How, then, should Alex proceed?

After Kyla has gone off to school and John to work, Alex speed-dials Neil and steps out onto the back porch to evade any listening devices inside the house. There's a decent plot of backyard space before the wall of trees lining the rear of the house and the rest on the block. It's cozy and enclosed, and Alex remembers spending quite a few nights here with Geddy, drinking wine and gazing at the stars.

He sits in one of the cushioned chairs, waiting out the rings. Neil picks up and says, "Alex."

"Hey. What's up?"

"Sorry I snapped at you the other day," Neil says.

"Don't apologize just yet. I have some more questions."

Neil sighs, loud and crackly, over the other end.

"The cops are investigating some of Geddy's associates," Alex tells him. "And I think now they're starting to look into Geddy too. They said he was involved with a mafia family headed by some guy named Caravino. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"So what if they are? You can't prosecute a dead man."

"What about me and the kids? We all got his money when he died. It's only a matter of time before they start looking into that. And they already don't believe me that I don't know anything. They _might_ keep the kids out of it, especially Kyla, but not me."

Neil is quiet for a long moment. "What are your other questions?"

So much for that. "We didn't really get past the first one. Did you know this Caravino guy or work for his family?"

"Next question."

Alex groans. "You're impossible." But Neil's refusal to answer pretty much screams that he had at least some involvement there. "I talked to Ray Danniels yesterday. I'm really starting to think Geddy was murdered, and the accident was a cover-up."

Neil breathes heavily, then says, "Tell me."

"If Geddy was a wiseguy, don't you think that ups his chances of a violent death? Mobsters get killed all the time. And Geddy seemed to come to you a lot with weird injuries."

"If that's true," Neil begins, still playing the 'Geddy wasn't affiliated with the mafia' card, "he lasted a long time."

"From what I hear, he was a lawyer. So probably not as much of an at-risk position as the guys who do the dirty work, but still in more danger than a regular lawyer."

Neil makes a thoughtful sound. "What's the motive, then?"

"Maybe his death has something to do with him finding a donor for Kyla." Neil had been almost as deeply involved in Kyla's struggle with Fanconi anemia almost as much as Geddy and Alex. And he had been just as stunned when a donor was found. "Maybe he, I don't know, killed somebody for the bone marrow."

"The donor has to be alive for the transplant to work."

"So maybe he threatened them into donating. Or hired muscle to 'convince' them." Alex uses finger quotes despite Neil not being able to see the gesture. "I mean, he was her father. You do anything for your kid. You'd probably do the same thing for your daughter."

"Putting aside the question of how that could possibly have gotten him killed, it was four years ago," Neil points out. "If it was about revenge, why wait so long?"

Alex chews the inside of his lower lip. "I don't know. There are holes, sure. But I don't have all the facts. Do you think you could get me a copy of the autopsy report?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Alex whines, reminding himself of Kyla when he tells her no. "Maybe there's something there that can help. Look at it with fresh eyes, y'know? I never saw it, so maybe—"

"If all this is true, if Geddy was murdered by dangerous people, do you really want to put your life and your kids' lives in danger by getting involved in this?"

Alex sighs as a breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. He watches a bluebird hop from branch to branch.

Neil has a point, and if he's familiar enough with these people Alex really ought to listen to him. Solving Geddy's murder—if there even was a murder at all—won't bring him back, won't stitch up the hole in Alex's chest. If Geddy's hypothetical killer is a mobster, it's probably only a matter of time before he meets a similar fate. Things may resolve themselves on their own.

And the less digging Alex does, the more he'll be telling the truth the next time the cops come around.

* * *

After dinner, Kyla's helping Alex clean up the kitchen when she asks, "Do you have Uncle Allan's number? I need his help on this paper for my criminal justice class."

Allan is Geddy's brother, and a well-respected lawyer at a nearby Toronto law firm. He had been the one to identify Geddy's body at the morgue after it had been pulled from the smoky wreckage.

Alex's first instinct is mild suspicion; Kyla rarely talks about schoolwork unless prompted. But if she's being dishonest, he can't figure out what her angle is.

"Sure, I'll send it to you," Alex says. "He'll be happy to hear from you."

They finish the dishes, and Kyla hurries upstairs to her room after Alex texts her Allan's number. For a while it's just John and Alex on the sectional sofa watching TV, and Alex forces himself to turn off his overactive brain and just enjoy these moments. John is sort of slumped against Alex, the picture of relaxation.

After an hour, Alex hears a door open upstairs—Kyla's room—then a moment later another door shuts. Then the faint hiss of the shower. John slides a hand over Alex's thigh, easing it between his legs as he nibbles his ear. Alex makes a squirmy sound.

"She won't hear us. Or see us," John reminds him, palming Alex's cock through the denim of his jeans.

Alex shifts under the touch, greedy for more. He can't remember the last time he touched John for the sake of it, without his own gratification. John unbuttons and unzips him, enough to stick his hand down the front of Alex's jeans and underwear. His fingers are warm and solid around Alex's cock, and Alex moans, wriggling his hips.

"I love watching you," John purrs, stroking him, and Alex is already hard. John appears to be torn between watching Alex's face and his cock, his gaze darting high then low. Alex tilts his head, moves in so he can kiss John, and John hums against his mouth, pleased that Alex has instigated affection.

Alex nips at John's bottom lip and loses himself in the heated stroke of John's hand, the soft squeeze around his cock, the way his thumb teases the head. He's no Geddy, but Alex wouldn't kick him out of bed either.

Alex shudders, drops his head against the back of the couch. John mouths kisses over Alex's jaw, then Alex hears a buzzing sound nearby, and wouldn't it be amazing if John brought out a vibrator, and the mix of excitement at the thought and arousal from John's touch makes Alex come with a shout.

John chuckles at his ear, stroking him through the comedown. "Fuck, baby, that was so hot," he says. "I wish I could make you come all day."

"Shit," Alex huffs, "me too."

Alex is still dazed from his orgasm, a stupid sort of bliss that prevents him from realizing the buzzing sound is his cell phone until John says, "Don't answer that 'til I'm done with you."

Alex doesn't.

When they're finished, Alex checks the missed calls on his phone. Allan tried to call him; could that have something to do with Kyla's request? He hits redial and waits through the rings. John rubs Alex's knee, tucked up against him with his head on Alex's shoulder.

"Alex, hey, I was just trying to get in touch with you," Allan says when he picks up. "Kyla called me about an hour ago, and, well, look, I don't wanna butt in or anything, but she was asking some pretty specific questions about stuff that, I dunno, I'm a little concerned about."

Alex sits up a little straighter. "Like what?"

Allan hums a contemplative noise, and Alex can almost see the way he's rubbing his chin right now. He and Geddy shared quite a few mannerisms. "For one, she wanted to know if the police are authorized to arrest one spouse if the other has questionable legal activity. And if wiretapping was illegal if the party being taped didn't know they were being recorded."

Alex shuts his eyes in pain. Kyla knows more than she should about what's going on. He'd been hoping to shield her from this, to protect her from the awful truth about her father, but part of him always knew he'd never be able to keep her unaware for long.

"I am pretty curious about that wiretapping thing," Alex says.

John gives him a curious look; Alex waves him off.

"It's illegal to record communications in which the recording party is not a participant," Allan says, and Alex pictures him pushing his glasses up his nose in that way of his. "Police would need a warrant to do so, otherwise the recording wouldn't be admissible."

Alex figures if the cops had enough evidence for a warrant they wouldn't have been poking around asking questions. So there probably aren't any listening devices in the house.

"What's going on, Alex?" Allan asks.

Alex's gut reaction, he's not proud to admit, is to lie. He doesn't want to break it to Allan that his beloved brother might have been involved in unsavory activity. But Allan's legal expertise could be helpful.

Alex fills him in, omitting the part about finding the money, since John is right beside him. He focuses more on the possible murder angle.

When Alex finishes speaking, there's a long moment of silence on the other end, and Alex actually checks to make sure the call wasn't dropped or otherwise canceled by Allan. Then he hears Allan's voice: "If Geddy was murdered in a mob hit, why did they try to cover it up? Generally they either make you disappear, like what happened to Jimmy Hoffa, or they make it explicitly clear it was a hit to keep everyone else in line."

"Unless it was someone Geddy worked with. It's probably frowned upon to whack your own guys, right?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But just because Geddy may have represented mobsters doesn't make him one."

Alex is reminded of the famous Nietzsche quotation: _He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you._

He should tell Allan about the money from the crawlspace. Someone needs to believe him, and they only way they can is if they have as much information as Alex does.

"Can I hire you?"

"What?" Allan sounds taken aback.

"Attorney-client privilege, right? If I tell you something you're sworn to secrecy, even if it's kinda greasy."

"That's really not necessary."

"Please. It's the only way you'll believe me that this is more than it seems."

"Fine. You're my client. Tell me."

Alex gets up from the couch, mouths, "sorry," to John, and steps out onto the back porch. Keeping his voice low, he says, "I found a duffel bag with $250,000 in the crawlspace. And it didn't look like the money was withdrawn from a bank, 'cause they usually use those paper strips, y'know? These just had rubber bands."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Allan says, ever the lawyer, looking for loopholes. "He could have saved the money over time and bound the stacks himself."

"That much?" Alex whisper-shouts. A chill hangs in the night air, and Alex paces across the deck to keep his bare feet from staying too long on the cold surface. "I don't think so. And why keep that much money in your house? It's not like he didn't trust banks; he had an account. Maybe even offshore ones I didn't know about. And don't forget: I didn't know about this money. If it was supposed to be an emergency fund or something, he never told me about it. Doesn't that seem shady?"

Allan makes a sound Alex can't identify. Skepticism? Consideration?

So Alex keeps talking. "Geddy was supposed to be a lawyer, but he never took cases to trial."

"Almost ninety percent of cases don't make it to trial. They get plead out," Allan interjects.

"That's my point. Geddy wasn't a high-profile criminal lawyer. If he just got paid hourly to help some mob guys plead out or make deals, he wouldn't be bringing home the big-name bucks. But he was. And the cops said most of his income, according to his taxes, at least, came from his ownership of those properties. They had to be money-laundering fronts. I worked at La Pasta Strangiato; we didn't pull in that kind of money on spaghetti and meatballs."

More skeptical silence that Alex fills with words.

"Geddy didn't even have an office, they said. And regular lawyers don't come home at two in the morning with a mob doctor stitching up knife wounds."

"Mob doctor?" Allan asks, sounding intrigued.

"Neil Peart. He works out of Toronto General, but he'd treat Geddy at the house or his house or basically anywhere but an actual hospital." Alex snaps his fingers. "Speaking of Neil, I asked him if I should look into the autopsy report, but he kinda blew me off. Since you identified the body, is there anything you remember or thought was weird or, I dunno, off?"

Alex has been torn about that particular detail; on one hand, he's glad someone else did the dirty work and spared him that awful final image of his husband, but on the other... sometimes you need to see the body. You need that sense of finality, of closure. The funeral was a closed-casket, so Alex never got that. Neither did the kids.

"What are you talking about?" Allan says. "I didn't ID Geddy's body; that's supposed to be next of kin. That would have been you."

Alex's heart clenches. "I never... Neil told me you did."

"Maybe he got it wrong."

Alex shakes his head in disbelief.

"And how would he know that?" Allan wonders, sounding suspicious. "The police usually handle notifying the family, but maybe in this case that task changed hands to the coroner. But still..." He shrugs it off. "If you want the autopsy report, I have a copy somewhere. I was gonna use it to try to sue the car manufacturer over that faulty gas tank, but it never panned out and I decided against it."

But Alex doesn't really hear him, too absorbed in this new clue that has once again sent his life spinning topsy-turvy.

Neil.

How could Alex not have seen it until now? Neil discouraged Alex against looking into this. He told Alex that Allan identified the body, which, Alex has now learned, was a lie. Neil was Geddy's go-to doctor for injuries that would raise suspicion in an emergency room. And Neil was just such a damn good friend to the family, comforting them at the funeral and the shiva and offering his help with anything they needed afterwards.

It hadn't been grief that led Neil to stick around after Geddy's death. It had been guilt.

"Alex?" Allan's voice has a hint of concern.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want the autopsy report?" he asks as though repeating something he's just said.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

"I'll scan it and email it to you tomorrow while I'm at the office. And I'll let you know if the police drop by."

"Thanks."

They say goodbye and hang up, and Alex's blood ignites like a switch has been flicked. He rushes inside and storms up the stairs. John blunders after him.

"Hey, what's going on? What did he say?"

Neil is tied into this too goddamn much for it all to be a coincidence. Either he killed Geddy himself or he knows who did. Alex will get answers, one way or another.

Alex throws open the bedroom door. Inside the closet is a wall safe containing a Smith & Wesson .357. Geddy had told him about the gun after Justin was born, in case someone broke in while Geddy was gone and Alex needed to protect himself and the baby. Alex never needed it until now.

"Will you please just tell me what's going on?" John pleads, watching Alex twist and spin the numbers into the safe lock.

"Neil knows what happened to Geddy," Alex says. "And I'm gonna make him tell me." The lock clicks. Alex pulls open the door, and his heart slams into his throat.

The safe is empty.


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment Alex just stands there stunned. John comes up behind him and rubs a hand along his back. "What? What's wrong?"

Alex finds his voice. "The gun is missing."

"You had a gun? Why did you have a gun?"

"It was Geddy's. In case we needed it..." Alex sticks his hand inside the safe, feeling around as though the gun might be hiding someplace.

"And you think somebody stole it?"

"No." Alex studies the lock and the door to the safe. "This doesn't look like it's been tampered with. So either someone broke inside the house and used a stethoscope to crack this thing, or Geddy took the gun."

"Who knew the combination?"

"Just me and Geddy." Alex rakes his hands through his hair and begins to pace across the hardwood floor. "I can't fucking believe it."

John sits on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what you're thinking. You came up here for a reason, right? What was it?"

"Neil killed Geddy," Alex says, his voice quaking with anger and grief. "Or he knows who did. He was tied into this from the beginning. He said Allan identified the body, but Allan thought _I_ did. Neil didn't want me looking into the autopsy report, and he didn't want me poking around at this in the first place. He's been so goddamn unhelpful it's suspicious. He doesn't want this solved because he's involved in it."

"So how does the missing gun tie into that?"

"I don't know. Geddy must have taken it out of the safe 'cause he thought he was in danger."

"Was the gun recovered at the scene?"

Alex shakes his head.

"So you're thinking he was shot with his own gun, the shooter took the gun with them, and faked the car accident to cover up the murder?"

Alex doesn't know what to think, but that sounds like where his brain's headed. It also sounds kind of ridiculous said out loud.

"If there were bullet wounds on the body," John says, "the police wouldn't have ruled it an accident. There would've been an investigation."

"And bullet wounds would have been noted in the autopsy," Alex says, following John's line of logic. "Allan would have raised hell about that."

John leans back on his hands. "Put yourself in his shoes for a second. If you thought someone was out to kill you, wouldn't you warn your family?"

Alex pauses by the window, his fingers toying with the curtains. He remembers that last night with Geddy in vivid detail, shuts his eyes and lets it wash over him. "He didn't say anything like that. Our last night together... He was"—Alex searches for the word—"attentive, I guess. When you've been together as long as we were, you fall into a routine and the passion fades a little, y'know?"

John smiles sadly, gives a small nod. He knows.

"So I was kinda surprised when he got a little more physical than usual. It wasn't totally out of character or anything, but it reminded me of how we were when we first got together, how we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Then when we finished, he told me how much he loved me..." Alex trails off, unable to continue. He thinks about Geddy's sweet smile and the tender clutch of hands at his back, and his heart breaks all over again.

"But none of that felt strange?"

"I didn't think anything of it until recently. Now it feels like he knew he was gonna die. But why wouldn't he tell me?"

"He probably worried that you'd try to stop it. Your interference could have gotten you or Kyla killed. And if this mafia theory is true, he was in too deep at this point to come clean about the last thirty years."

"Being alive is still better than being dead."

"Wait, let me write this down." John mimes a pen and paper. "'Being alive. Better than. Being dead.'" He looks up with a rakish grin.

"Fuck off," Alex says with love.

"So what're you gonna do about Neil?" John asks.

"He doesn't want me seeing whatever's in that autopsy report. Allan said he'll send it to me tomorrow. Hopefully that'll give me something more concrete."

"And what about the missing gun?"

"Hey, one problem at a time."

Alex showers first, hoping to decompress and relax under the hot stream. But the missing gun keeps gnawing at his brain like a termite chewing wood. Just because the gun is gone doesn't mean its absence has anything to do with Geddy's death. Alex never opened the safe until tonight; for all he knows, it could have been taken out months, maybe even years ago.

But even that doesn't really make sense, because Geddy claimed the gun was for home protection. For Alex. If Geddy took the gun out and kept it with him, that would have defeated the point, wouldn't it? Alex considers the brief possibility that Geddy may have had to use the gun for some reason—possibly something violent and terrible Alex would rather not know about—then toss it. Why then, wouldn't he have replaced it, if he was worried about Alex and the kids' safety?

So the gun must have been removed within the last couple days leading up to Geddy's death. But if that's the case, Alex still can't figure out where the hell the gun is, unless whoever killed him took it with them.

Okay, forget the gun for a moment. How does he explain Neil's fingerprints all over this? If Neil didn't partake in Geddy's death (or know who did), why would he continuously try to prevent Alex from looking into it? He claimed Alex should step away for his kids' sakes, but does that line of logic really make sense? Why wouldn't Neil suggest Alex work with the cops to bring Geddy's potential killer to justice? Maybe Alex could brush off the warning if Neil hadn't lied about Allan identifying the body.

The deeper question remains: if Allan didn't identify the body, and it wasn't Alex either, then who did?

While John's in the shower, Alex heads down the hall to Kyla's room. The door, of course, is closed, so Alex knocks.

Kyla's voice sounds from the other side of the door. "Come in."

Alex steps inside. The room is a soft study in innocence, with robin's egg blue walls, plush white and teal bedding, and numerous Disney character bobbleheads lining every horizontal surface. Alex remembers painting the wall behind the headboard with the colorful birds depicted there.

Kyla's sitting crosslegged on the bed with her laptop. Toffee snoozes in a ball of orange and white fur beside her. She glances up to determine whether Alex or John is approaching. "So what were you and John arguing about?"

"We weren't arguing," Alex says, feeling vaguely attacked by her assumption. "We were just... talking. Loudly."

"Fine, what were you talking loudly about?"

"It wasn't about you."

"I know." She frowns. "Was it about Daddy? That's why the cops were here, right?"

Alex sidesteps that question. "You know I didn't buy for one second that story about you needing Uncle Allan's expertise for a paper. And neither did he. He called me and told me some of the questions you asked."

Kyla looks exactly as she should: a seventeen-year-old caught in a lie.

"You thought the cops might have bugged the house?" Alex asks.

Kyla shrugs. "I dunno, maybe. They could've done it when I went upstairs to get you. I wasn't looking... But Allan said they couldn't do that without a warrant. Did they have one?"

Alex shakes his head. "They were just trying to see if I knew anything." He sits on the corner of the bed. Toffee raises his head, as though annoyed by Alex's presence. "Is there anything you remember about the last time you talked to Geddy? Did he say anything to you that might seem weird now?"

Kyla's brow creases, her eyes suddenly sad, and she looks so much like Geddy it takes Alex's breath away. "Yeah, I guess... He came into my room that night before he went to bed, like he always did, but instead of asking me about school or homework or anything like that he told me how much he loved me and how proud he was of me. Y'know, sappy parent stuff." She closes her eyes, rubs them. "I didn't think it was weird then 'cause he said stuff like that sometimes. But maybe..."

"What? What are you thinking?"

"Maybe he knew someone was gonna kill him. But why didn't he tell us? We could've helped." Kyla's voice breaks. Alex reaches out to comfort her, but she fends him off with a hand.

"I don't want you looking into this anymore, okay?" Alex says. "Forget it. Let me handle it. You're still a kid. You don't need to worry about stuff like this yet."

"But I can help. If you tell me what's going on—"

"I can't. Maybe a spouse can't be forced to testify against the other, but you think the cops won't try to get you to talk if they think you know something?"

Her voice has an edge to it now. "I'm 'still a kid,' so they can't talk to me without a parent present."

Alex winces inwardly.

"And even if I wasn't, I still know enough to call Allan first and not say anything."

She is so much like her father in the most aggravating ways sometimes.

"I get it," Alex says. "Why you want to help. But... this is dangerous. It's like when you're eating chocolate ice cream and Toffee climbs all over you to get it, but you keep it from him because you know it'll kill him."

Kyla arches an eyebrow. "Great metaphor, Pop."

"Just go with me, okay? Let me do my job and protect you. I can't lose anyone else."

In that brief moment of vulnerability, she seems to understand. "Okay," she mumbles. "I'm sorry."

He hugs her goodnight, closes the door as he leaves.

Sleep doesn't come to Alex no matter how hard he tries. His brain won't stop spinning with theories and possibilities and worries. John sleeps soundly beside him, pressed close with his face tucked into Alex's throat. His breath is warm and gentle, one arm slung over Alex's middle to keep him near. He didn't ask for sex when Alex returned to the bedroom, didn't make any overtures or suggestions, like he knew instinctively Alex would be unreceptive. If John is indeed a gold-digger like Neil suggested, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

No, Alex thinks, watching John's angelic face in sleep, he is honest and good.

But he'd thought the same about Geddy too, hadn't he?

After an hour and a half, Alex carefully extricates himself from the bed and John's embrace. He creeps down the stairs and into the kitchen for a drink to help him fall asleep. After lying in the darkness for so long, his eyes have adjusted to it, so he keeps the lights off, using the faint illumination leaking through the curtains to guide him.

He pours himself a glass of wine, a rich red that had been one of Geddy's favorites. The taste immediately transports him back to happier times, a night just a few years ago when they'd gotten tipsy and Geddy begged Alex to fuck him against the pantry door. Alex remembers the taste of wine on his tongue as they exchanged sloppy kisses, his sweet breath when he came in a gasp.

He doesn't have any memories like that with John. Not that they haven't had decent—and occasionally really good—sex, but there's always an aura of regret with John, that this is not the way things should be. Alex can't put aside his longing for Geddy in order to fully appreciate this new relationship. Could that be in part because Alex never saw the body? When a soldier dies in battle, the family often can't accept the death until they see definitive proof. Maybe something similar is at play here.

Alex downs the rest of the wine and sets the glass in the sink. He's about to head upstairs when he hears a sound that makes his heartbeat rev up like a V6 engine.

Someone is unlocking the front door.

Alex has a brief moment of genuine kid-in-the-dark terror before he remembers he's an adult with a daughter to protect. He grabs a kitchen knife out of the knife block and ducks beneath the counter. He hears the front door creak open. The intruder is in the foyer now. The staircase is so goddamn close, but Alex won't be able to see if the guy goes upstairs.

 _Please let him stay down here,_ Alex thinks in a silent prayer.

Keeping low, Alex creeps closer. He has the element of surprise on his side, since the intruder probably isn't expecting anyone to catch him. But Alex doesn't know what weapons the intruder has. Alex might have a few seconds on him by virtue of a surprise attack, but if the man has a gun, he's already made up for that lost time.

But it's not like Alex has any other options. He left his phone on the bedroom night table upstairs. And even if he had it, calling for help would make noise. No choice.

Alex hears soft footsteps coming closer on the hardwood. He ducks further, cursing his near-six-foot frame. A shadowy figure comes into view and turns right, bypassing the kitchen and dining room. Alex risks a peek over the counter, watching the figure head down the hall. There are three rooms there: the laundry room at the end of the hallway, the guest bathroom, and the meter room. Maybe Alex can trap them inside one of the rooms, use the element of surprise and the small space to his advantage.

Firming his grip on the knife, Alex creeps towards the figure like something out of a stealth mission in a video game. Whoever he is, the intruder seems to know the layout of the house pretty well. He's not stumbling around or surveying things like a first-time visitor would.

Almost like he's been here before.

The thought makes Alex pause just as the figure moves for the door to the meter room.

Does this man know about the money? That's the only reason someone would sneak into Alex's house in the middle of the night and go straight for the meter room. Unless they're trying to blow the place up by tampering with the water heater. But that seems unlikely.

Alex doesn't see a gun in the stranger's hand. He doesn't see the glint of a knife, either. If he has a weapon, it's holstered. Alex has the advantage here.

He takes it.

Alex rushes forward and leaps.

The intruder hears Alex's frantic footfalls and turns, putting his arms up to fend off the attack, but it's about as effective as dousing a fire with a squirt gun. Alex slams him against the wall with his forearm, the hand holding the knife poised for action. But his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and the sight of the intruder's face makes Alex want to drive the knife in all the more.

Neil's eyes are wide with panic, his voice a panicked whisper. "Put the knife down. Just calm down and listen for a second."

"Alright, talk. Why did you kill Geddy?"

Neil looks even more bewildered. "What? No? Why would you—"

"Is that why you're here? You're gonna kill me too?" Alex tightens his grip on the knife. Just a little jab, he thinks. Draw enough blood to get him talking. He brings the blade closer to Neil's face.

Neil trembles, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "I'm not killing anybody. I'm just here for the money."

Alex almost tells him it's not here, or asks why he wants it, but he stops himself. Slow down. Think. If Neil knows about the money, he might know where it came from.

"What money?"

Neil's eyes dart from side to side, like a bird in too small a cage. He swallows, and Alex can see the lump in his throat.

Alex taps the blade to Neil's cheek, light enough not to leave a mark. "Start talking."

"It's—it's a payment," Neil sputters.

Alex is tempted to stick him. "Someone paid you to kill Geddy? Who?"

"Not just someone. Geddy."


	8. Chapter 8

Alex's heart crumbles into dust. So he had been right all along. Neil was the one who destroyed Alex's family.

"Bullshit," he chokes out. "Geddy wouldn't—If he was suicidal, he would've..." _Would_ he have told Alex? Oh God, had all the signs been there and Alex was just too stupid to see them?

Telling his husband and daughter he loved them: a final goodbye. Leaving Kyla enough money for college right before his death. It would explain why the gun was missing. Maybe Neil doctored the autopsy report to omit any bullet wounds. A suicide would mean Alex and the kids wouldn't get any life insurance money, so it had to look like an accident.

"He couldn't handle the lies anymore," Alex murmurs. He lets go of Neil, the knife clattering to the floor. "Was he in trouble? Is that why he—And he couldn't tell me—" A sob catches in Alex's throat.

"No, no, no, listen." Neil takes hold of Alex's shoulders, trying to shake him out of the numbness. "I just made it look like he died. But he's alive, Alex. I swear to God. Geddy is alive."

Alex's insides shut down as the world just _stops_. He hears the words, but they don't quite register with him yet, because Neil has already lied to him. How does he know Neil's not simply telling him what he wants to hear?

"Don't do this to me," Alex whimpers. "Where is he? If he's alive, tell me where—"

Neil's words hit Alex like body blows. "I don't know. He never told me where he was going. That was part of the deal."

"What deal?"

"Geddy asked me to help him fake his death. He said he was in trouble. I didn't ask for specifics. He didn't offer any. He said it was the only way to keep his family safe."

A wave of light-headedness washes through Alex. He manages to speak. "How?"

"I don't know, I guess no one would go looking for him if he—"

"How did you fake it?" He might be able to put the pieces together on his own, but this discovery has made him somewhat dizzy.

Neil takes a deep breath, as though preparing himself for something difficult. "A medical examiner friend of mine supplied us with a John Doe to use as the body. We put the body and Geddy's personal effects in the car, lit it up and pushed it over the ravine. When the ME was called, he contacted me. I showed up posing as his assistant and told the police I would take care of informing the family, since I knew some of the cops. They had no reason not to trust me."

Alex shakes his head. This can't be real. "The gun. What happened to the gun?"

Neil looks confused. "What gun?"

"Geddy had a gun in the house. But it's gone now, and I know I didn't take it."

"I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Did he take it with him?"

"Maybe. He didn't say anything about crossing the border, so he might have kept it on him."

Hope begins to chip away at the stone wall of Alex's denial.

"What about the money?"

"He was supposed to pay me," Neil explains, "but he thought it would look suspicious if he turned up dead and I suddenly had a huge payout. So he said he would contact me when he felt it was safe."

Alex grasps the front of Neil's shirt, pulling him close. "He contacted you? You know where he is?"

"No, he didn't tell me—You know how careful he is, Alex. He used a disposable cell phone. Untraceable."

Alex sighs and lets him go. "No, I don't believe that. There has to be a way..." An idea occurs to him, a burst of clarity in his head. "Wait, he had to get fake documents, right? Which means someone had to make them. Someone knows where he is! Who would have set Geddy up with a fake passport or ID or whatever?"

Neil hesitates a moment too long.

"Tell me!"

Neil's response surprises him. "No."

"I'm sorry, what? Did you just say 'no'?" Alex considers making a grab for the knife. A sharp object might convince Neil to be cooperative.

"There's a reason Geddy did all this. He was in danger, and he didn't want that spilling over to his family. For your protection, as well as his, no one can know where he is. I broke confidences just telling you he's alive."

Alex doesn't care. "Maybe you didn't hear me. Give me the number, Neil."

"Give me the money."

"I don't have it."

"You're lying. Geddy said the money was in the crawlspace. He may have been a lot of things, but he wasn't a cheat. He wouldn't tell me the money's there if it wasn't."

Alex weighs his options. It's not like he was ever going to use the money anyway, and having it out of the house would take his stress levels down a notch. If he can play the money as a bargaining chip, he might have a shot at finding Geddy.

"Come over tomorrow after John leaves for work," Alex says. "I'll give you the money, and you give me a way to contact someone who knows where Geddy is. If you screw me over, I'll tell Jackie you've been sitting on this for a whole year. I'll remind her how you were the closest, kindest shiva caller, comforting me and the kids when all this time you _knew_ Geddy was alive."

Neil looks terrified at the possibility of his wife finding out about any of this. "She'd never forgive me."

"I don't know if I can either."

"Geddy wouldn't want this," Neil says, but Alex can tell his resolve is cracking. "If you can find him, then other people can too. Dangerous people. You're putting everyone's life at risk."

"Then I'll just have to find him first."

* * *

_July 2005_

Geddy wasn't big on ceremony, so when he married Alex it was a short and sweet visit to the courthouse for a marriage license rather than a huge soiree under a gazebo. Alex didn't much care for an elaborate celebration either, which confused then nine-year-old Kyla.

"How come you didn't have a wedding?" she asked that evening over dessert as Alex served up Geddy's favorite: peach pie. Kyla grabbed the can of whipped cream and sprayed an oversize dab on her finger before licking it off.

Geddy shrugged. "We didn't want to."

"Why? You could've had the biggest, best wedding ever!" Even at such a young age, Kyla knew her father was seriously loaded.

Geddy smiled in that way of his when he was overwhelmed by his love for his children, and Alex couldn't help but watch him with a goofy smile of his own. "We could have," Geddy said, as though weighing this option, "but big fancy weddings cost a lot of money, and that money could go to something more useful, like a trip to Disney World."

Kyla gasped. "Are we going to Disney World?" She seemed poised to scream with delight at Geddy's next words.

"Maybe for your birthday," Geddy said slyly.

Kyla leaped out of her chair and hugged him. "I love you, Daddy!"

"It was my idea," Alex chimed in, like he was put out his contribution wasn't appreciated. But he loved seeing the bond between Geddy and Kyla; Alex had his years of favoritism while raising Justin and Adrian. Clearly, Geddy was making up for his parental absences by doting on Kyla, and she adored him for it. Alex did, too.

"I love you too, Papa!" Kyla rushed over and hugged Alex too so he wouldn't feel left out. "Thank you thank you thank you I promise I won't ask for anything for Christmas or Hanukkah or—"

Alex laughed, ruffling her dark hair. "Breathe, kiddo."

She managed to stay calm long enough to eat dessert, then dashed up to her room, presumably to look up the park attractions online and plan an itinerary.

Geddy poured himself another glass of white wine while Alex gazed at him with adoration. "You're really sexy when you're a good dad," Alex said.

Geddy huffed laughter over the rim of his glass before taking a sip. He glanced down, noticing the way Alex's socked foot inched its way up his leg. "Lerxst, have some dignity. Don't play footsie with me under the table," Geddy said, the curve of his mouth indicating he enjoyed Alex's teasing.

"Then where else am I supposed to do it?" They were sitting across from each other, so it was easy for Alex to stretch out his leg and position his foot at Geddy's crotch.

Just a minimal amount of pressure had Geddy sighing, "You're disgusting."

"Are you telling me I'm not getting laid on my wedding night?" Alex frowned at him. "I feel ripped off."

Geddy took another sip of wine, easing a hand underneath the table and inside of Alex's pajama leg, caressing his calf. "And I feel used. You married me just for the sex?" The wry angle of his mouth combined with his touch set Alex ablaze.

"And the great pillow talk." Alex grinned.

They made it upstairs just in time. After they finished—Alex lost track of how much time had passed—they lay sweaty and sated in each other's arms. Geddy held him close, breathing him in and staying quiet the way he always did after sex. The first time Alex mistook this as regret on Geddy's part, but he soon learned Geddy was simply cherishing the moment, stricken speechless by both his orgasm and his love for Alex.

"Don't fall asleep on me, old man," Alex teased. "We've still got the rest of the night."

Geddy's laughter came in a hot fog against Alex's chest. "Think you can last that long?"

"I think my track record speaks for itself."

Geddy chuckled, holding him a little tighter. "I love you so much," he said, his voice suddenly soft and with an edge of gravity. "You and the kids are so important to me. I don't think I really say that enough."

"It's understood," Alex said with a smile, combing his fingers through Geddy's hair.

"I need you to know. No matter what, I will always take care of you."

"I can handle myself," Alex snickered. "I'm a pretty big guy."

Geddy's hand crawled over his hip and settled over Alex's belly. He tilted his head to lock eyes with Alex. "I mean it. I'd do anything for you."

Alex knew he would. "Even that thing with your tongue that you usually save for my birthday?"

Geddy gave him a sweet smile. "I did say anything..."

* * *

Ray Danniels sits at a private table in The Orbit Room, surrounded by the remaining high-ranking members of the Caravino crime family: underboss Terry "Broon" Brown, and consigliere Bill Banasiewicz (better known as the B-Man). If you want to get technical, the Caravino crime family is more of a crew; there hasn't been a blood member since the Old Man, aka Rocco Caravino. Now it's a syndicate, an organization with no familial ties.

Born from disillusioned Italian immigrants in Toronto's Little Italy district, the Caravino crew owns a weighty chunk of the city's organized crime, as far north as the 407 and as far west as Etobicoke. The eastern half, however, belongs to the Giannottis, the Caravinos' rivals. The Don, Tony Giannotti, fell deathly ill back in 2002; since most of his blood relatives were in prison, before he died he named then-underboss Howard Ungerleider as the head of the family. And both crews seemed at peace with each other, operating in entirely different orbits.

Until Don Caravino and Geddy Weinrib ended up dead.

Howard Ungerleider and his entourage enter the bar. No one but Ray and his crew seem to notice. To the uninitiated, they look like businessmen on lunch break, stopping in for a drink. But Ray knows better. He eyes the three men as they pull up chairs and sit.

Howard has brought along his underboss, Jimbo Barton, and consigliere Rupert Hine. "You know you got eyes on you?" Howard says as he sits.

Ray nods. Howard's talking about the cops. They've had their noses up this family's asshole since the Don was killed. Ray has learned to live with their presence. He didn't get this far being stupid enough to do the dirty work himself.

"Don't worry about them," Ray says. "We're just talking here. Nothing wrong with that."

Howard settles his trademark stern gaze onto Ray. "So talk."

Ray shifts, moving closer to the table. "This whole gang war bullshit has to stop. We're losing too many people over what is a simple problem with a simple solution."

Howard cocks an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"One of your guys—I'm not gonna name names, because I don't have any—killed our boss. And the same guy probably got rid of Weinrib, too. Now that's two of my men killed—very senselessly, I might add—by yours. We didn't take too kindly to that, so we fired back. Now look what's happening. Do you see the problem here?"

Howard leans forward and steeples his fingers. Steepling looks good on him. "Weinrib died in a car accident. Doesn't seem like our style."

"Our boss is killed, then a couple days later our consigliere dies?"

"It could be a coincidence. Car accidents happen all the time. And they don't tend to discriminate."

Ray shakes his head. "Something tells me there's a little more to it than that."

They're silent for a few moments.

"Did you call me here to accuse me?" Howard asks with offense.

"I think we can come to a mutually-agreeable compromise," Ray says. "Hand over whoever is responsible for the Old Man and Weinrib. We take care of them, then we don't bother you, you don't bother us."

"You assume the guilty party—or parties—will happily confess."

Ray spreads his hands. "Hey, do what you gotta do. Doesn't matter to me if you gotta knock 'em around or whatever."

"You also assume," Howard continues, as though Ray didn't even speak, "that the problem lies with us."

Ray hadn't really considered that the killer (or killers) could be hiding among the Caravino crew. He tries to prevent his gaze from slipping to the B-Man or Broon.

But Howard senses this shift, knows that he has caught Ray offguard, and a man like Howard Ungerleider operates at his best when he's taken you by surprise.

"It would be easy for one of your men to copy our way of doing things," Howard says. "Have you made absolutely certain the blame does not lie with your side?"

Ray can't figure out who would benefit from whacking the Old Man _and_ Weinrib. One or the other, sure, that could narrow down the suspect list, but both of them? Killing the Don would be a power grab, but the next in line for Don Caravino's position was Ray himself. And Ray knows he didn't do it. Unless he commits elaborate murders in his sleep and leaves zero incriminating evidence.

Geddy didn't really have any enemies, at least none who made their presence known. As consligliere, Geddy made plenty of important decisions, but they were always weighed and discussed at length with the other members of the family. Hashing things out was almost as grueling as jury deliberations and could often take hours to reach a decision everyone was happy with.

"You sound like you have a theory," Ray says. Maybe he can suss out a clue. That is, if Howard has any reason to entertain this train of thought beyond self-preservation.

"Why don't you look into the bone marrow donor for Weinrib's daughter?" Howard says, casually pushing away from the table.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex can't sleep. How the hell could he, now that he knows Geddy is alive? He's had dreams like this before, but they seemed to take place in a universe where the accident never happened, where life continued on the way it should have with no hiccups. And he has always realized, at some point, that he was dreaming, and the fantasy would shatter.

But Alex is here now, wide awake in his bed with John sleeping soundly beside him—John sleeps about as deeply as a bear hibernating in the winter—and he is filled with the certainty that what happened downstairs with Neil was not a dream.

_He's alive..._

Alex can't make himself believe it. Until he sees Geddy with his own eyes, he won't believe it.

Alex must fall asleep at some point, because he opens his eyes and suddenly it's morning. John is downstairs in the kitchen making toasted Denver omelette sandwiches, as though just hours ago Alex wasn't hiding in this same room clutching a knife and watching Neil skulk through the darkness.

Kyla's sitting at the table, feeding Toffee a small chunk of ham from her sandwich. She watches Alex until he meets her gaze, then she glances away, like she's guilty of some unspoken offense Alex might find out about if he looks at her too long.

Could she have heard last night's conversation with Neil? They kept their voices hushed, but Kyla might have heard their physical confrontation and come out of her room to investigate.

"How'd you sleep?" John asks Alex with a teasing smile, sliding across the counter a plate bearing a sandwich.

"I don't sleep anymore. I'm a vampire, remember?"

"A sexy vampire," John reminds him.

At the table, Kyla makes a noise of disgust. "I knew I was Team Jacob for a reason."

John's mouth is an amused curve, but his eyes are filled with sympathy when he looks at Alex. "You should try to get some sleep. Take the day off and haven't been yourself the last couple days."

"I haven't been myself in over a year."

"You know what I mean." John slides a hand up Alex's arm, his fingers pushing through the thin, dark hair there. "Be good to yourself."

John is so kind and loving Alex almost wants to tell him what's going on. He wants to talk about it and ruminate over the possibilities, but John is a bit more of a realist than Alex, and he has a vested interest in Geddy staying dead. John will try to convince Alex it's a hoax, that Neil is lying so he can get his hands on the money. He will shrivel up this tiny little bud of hope in Alex's chest, and Alex isn't quite ready to lose it just yet.

"Alright," Alex says with a nod. "I'll be good."

Kyla doesn't talk to Alex much over breakfast, but he doesn't expect her to. An hour later the house is empty, save for Alex and Toffee, who's loudly licking himself on the couch. Alex picks up his phone and sends Neil a text: _come now._

It takes Neil an hour to arrive, an hour which Alex spends nervously pacing and wondering if he's made a horrible mistake. Neil had mob connections, if his friendship with Geddy is any indication; he could be arranging a way to take Alex out of the picture, deeming him as too much of a risk to leave alive.

Well, maybe not. The deaths of two spouses barely a year apart would probably seem suspicious to any investigator worth their salt, and that might result in Geddy's case being reopened and studied with fresh eyes. Neil wouldn't want that kind of heat in his direction. Plus, Alex can't really picture Neil killing anyone or even hiring someone to do the dirty work for him. Then again, Alex hadn't imagined Geddy could be a member of the mafia, so his character judgments probably aren't super-great.

The knock on the door makes Alex jump. He hurries to the door, peers out the peephole. Neil's standing there looking impatient. Against his better instincts, Alex lets him inside.

"Do you have the money?"

"Do you have the info?"

Begrudgingly, Neil produces a business card from his jeans' pocket. Alex snatches it out of his hand.

"This is the guy?"Alex asks, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. "He can—he can make people disappear?"

Neil nods.

"Then why is this a business card for a dry cleaners?"

"You think these kind of people advertise? Just call the number and leave a message. Tell him you need the deluxe package. It costs about $125,000. Cash only. He'll call you back and tell you what to do."

Alex scowls, seeing through Neil's play and feeling like the world's biggest idiot. Call a mysterious number, meet a stranger with a shady second job? Sounds like a recipe for a mob hit. Neil could've cooked this scheme up between last night and now.

"You fucker. I know what this is. You're trying to get me out of the way so you can have your money and not have to worry about me fucking things up."

Neil looks flabbergasted, his face pale with horror. "What? No! Jesus!" Either his surprise is genuine, or he's a damn good actor. Alex never bought into the phony science of spotting a liar. A good deceiver can fool you, and believing you can "read" body language just means you're fooled with more certainty.

"It's not like you don't have a history of lying to me."

"Alex..." Neil sounds lost and dejected, like a little boy, and Alex feels a pang of sympathy for him before brushing it off.

"New deal." Alex jabs a finger into Neil's chest. "You don't get the money until I find Geddy. If this whole thing isn't bullshit, then it shouldn't be a problem, right? You've already waited a year; what's a little longer?"

Neil just stares at the way Alex is poking him.

"Why did Geddy need to fake his death?" Alex asks, jabbing with more force this time.

With a delicacy Alex didn't know he was capable of, Neil moves Alex's hand away from his chest. "I don't know. He didn't give me any details. He just said he was in trouble and needed my help."

"I thought this dry cleaner guy could make people disappear."

"He can," Neil says with a nod. "And I asked Geddy the same question. Why go through the trouble? But faking his death was for your sake."

The words hit Alex like a surprise left hook. When he speaks, his voice is impossibly small. "What?"

"If Geddy just vanished, he knew you would never stop looking for him. Without a body, you wouldn't be able to move on. The rest of your life would be consumed by searching for him. Maybe Kyla's too. He couldn't do that to you. It was cruel, but what choice did he have?"

"He could've talked to me first! He didn't have to run off and fake his death! We could've—" Alex's voice breaks, but he pushes past it. "We could've fixed things..."

"I tried to tell him that, but he insisted he'd only be putting you and the kids in more danger." Neil sighs sadly. "You think I wanted to do this?"

"I'm sure the payout sweetened the pot," Alex sneers.

"He told me upfront that he couldn't guarantee when I'd get the money. I knew he was good for it, but there was always a chance complications would arise. I helped him knowing there might not be a payoff. I helped him because he's my friend."

"Yeah, you're a real prince."

"Alex, please, you have to understand—"

"No, I don't!"

"If Geddy said faking his death was the only way, who am I to interfere? I didn't know the situation at all. I'm sure he went over every possibility. Do you think he _wanted_ to leave you and the kids?"

"Well, that's what he did." Alex looks at the card in his hand, his sole lifeline to Geddy. "And I'm gonna find him."

* * *

Broon likes this part of the job. He doesn't care for violence for violence's sake, but he enjoys the pain and fear he sees in the eyes of his victims after a physical assault. Entering the office of Dr. Neil Peart at Toronto General Hospital, Broon senses that fear hanging like a fog in the air.

Broon shuts the door as he steps inside. The low murmur of chatter and intercom pages become muffled, as though Neil is shut off from the outside world.

"Terry," Neil says, pushing away from his desk and standing up. "Nice to see you."

It's never nice to see Broon. Broon does not make trips for friendly chats.

Broon doesn't do small talk either. "You have information that I need," he says, moving closer.

"What information is that?" Neil's trying to keep his voice even and burning a lot of calories doing it.

"Weinrib's daughter was treated here." It's not a question; Broon has already fact-checked this. "I need to know who donated the bone marrow."

Neil's face goes through a flurry of emotions. "That information is classified. To breach that confidentiality—"

Neil doesn't have time to finish his sentence. In one smooth motion, Broon slips in close, makes a fist, and punches Neil up and under the ribs, toward the liver. Neil drops to the floor like a bag of wet sand, writhing, curled into a ball as he gasps for air. He knows better than to scream.

"Let's try this again," Broon says coolly. "Who was the donor?"

Neil tries to sit up, gets his hands underneath him and pushes. "Don't hurt them," he says, struggling for breath. "Please."

Broon isn't certain if Neil's using ambiguous pronouns to throw him off, or if he's referring to more than one person. "Who?"

"The donor."

As expected, then. Still clinging to confidentiality, even while gasping for air.

"I can't promise that. But if they didn't kill Weinrib or the Old Man, I have no reason to hurt them."

Neil seems to be thinking this over, but the punch has scrambled his cognitive reasoning, left him with only his primitive side that seeks to avoid pain. Using his desk as leverage, he manages to get to his feet. His legs wobble from adrenaline.

Neil is a big guy—Broon guesses six-two, two-twenty—but his size is a disadvantage for a skilled fighter like Broon. And a gun will stop anyone.

So while Neil could use this moment to grab the coffee cup on his desk or a handful of pens out of a jar or whip a heavy bookend across Broon's jaw, he knows that will only end poorly for him. He staggers to the computer and types quickly.

Broon moves closer, peers over Neil's shoulder as he opens windows and clicks through screens. When Neil stops, Broon's gaze fixes on the name, and he feels like a fool.

* * *

_April 1976_

Geddy lay slumped over Alex, his thighs still quaking from his orgasm. Alex stroked a hand through Geddy's hair and kissed the crown of his head.

"Was it good?" Geddy asked. During the beginning of their relationship, Geddy had been unsure as to the quality of his sexual performance, since he'd had no prior experience. Tonight he'd opted for something new—climbing on top and riding Alex's cock—so he was allowed a bit of apprehension.

"I came first, didn't I?" Alex said, his free hand roaming over Geddy's back.

"Doesn't mean you liked it."

Alex wished he knew how to tell Geddy how much he enjoyed it, how goddamn sexy it was to see the normally shy and reserved Geddy get off on Alex's dick. The hungry, needy way Geddy's hips moved, the sounds of his loud, breathless cries. The way he gazed down at Alex while they fucked, one hand tucking his hair behind his ear in a short glimpse of his typical shyness.

So Alex settled for the tried and true. "I loved it. I love _you_."

Geddy snorted a laugh, pushing himself up enough so he could see Alex's face. "Don't say shit like that. I might believe it."

"Well, you should. It's true."

Geddy huffed in amusement, his cheeks reddening at the compliment. He hid his face by burying it in the fuzz of Alex's chest.

Alex just smiled, combing his fingers through Geddy's long hair.

Alex had never fallen for someone so quickly and wholly. He'd thought he'd been in love with John, but in the face of his feelings for Geddy that was just a schoolboy crush. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Geddy, and, yes, he knew saying that at age 22 was naive at best and stupid at worst. But Geddy was his age, so they could be naive and stupid together.

"What does your name mean?" Geddy asked after a few moments.

Alex had a feeling Geddy wasn't asking about his first name. "Živojinović?"

"Is that Serbian for 'stud'?"

Alex laughed. "Close. It means 'well-endowed.'"

Geddy snickered, and Alex loved the sound. He wanted to drown in Geddy's soft laughter.

"Actually, roughly translated it means 'son of life.'"

Geddy tips his head to look at him. "And Alexander means 'leader of men.'"

"Shit, my parents have way too high of hopes for me."

"They didn't give you your surname though," Geddy said, his fingers absently playing with the dark, thin hairs on Alex's arm. "So you can't really blame them for that one."

"I can, and I will," Alex said, feigning indignation.

Geddy sighed happily and rested his cheek on Alex's chest. "I love you too, y'know."

"Oh, I know. You're so obvious. It's a little embarrassing."

They laughed together, and Alex had never been happier.


	10. Chapter 10

The address given to Alex by the disappearer seems pretty greasy. Located in a shady-looking shopping center in Milliken, at first glance the dry cleaners' suite appears to be just another Chinese shop among many. Alex almost wonders if he's at the right place, but the name on the sign and the business card Neil gave him match, so he shuts off his car and heads inside.

The shop smells like aerosol starch spray and hot fabric. Alex looks around, bewildered by the racks of neatly-pressed clothes in clear bags. "So this is actually a dry cleaners?"

A man appears behind the counter. "You're the guy on the phone?" He's not Chinese or even Asian at all; he's a white guy about Alex's age with brown hair and a surprisingly open face.

"Yeah, for the, uh, deluxe package?"

The man nods. "You got the money?"

Alex debated how to pay for the transaction; withdrawing money from his bank would probably raise some red flags if the cops are watching his bank activity (no reason to think they're not, since they seem to consider him a person of interest). And he probably wouldn't make it out of the bank anyway. So he counted out $125,000 from the duffel bag under the bed and threw it in the trunk of his car.

Sure, that money was supposed to go to Neil, but, honestly, fuck Neil. He lied to Alex and the kids for a whole year, and would have been happy to keep lying if Alex hadn't discovered the money. What's Neil gonna do if he doesn't get his payoff? Sue? Call the police?

"It's in my car," Alex says.

"Alright, bring it in and we'll talk business."

Alex does as he's told, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure this isn't a trick. But it's the middle of the afternoon in a relatively busy neighborhood, so if someone smacks him over the back of the head with a tire iron, there are bound to be witnesses.

Alex brings the bag into the store, sets it on the counter. "So, Mr. Disappearer Guy—"

"Call me Andrew."

"Okay, that's much better. Actually, I wasn't entirely honest with you on the phone. I'm sort of here under false pretenses."

"Are you a cop?" Andrew asks around a tremor of fear.

"No, I just—" Alex starts over. "Through an unnamed source, I found out that you handled my husband's disappearance. New papers and ID and all that. I need to find him."

Andrew relaxes now, as though on comfortable, familiar territory. "I understand what you're feeling, but part of my job depends on secrecy. If I gave out the new identities of my clients so easily, well, there wouldn't be much of a point to my services, would there?"

Alex tries to keep the pleading out of his voice. "You can have the money. $125,000. All yours. All you have to do is give me a name and address. No one will know who gave it to me."

"So your husband disappeared—"

"He faked his death," Alex corrects. "He was in trouble and needed to hide to protect his family."

Andrew rubs his chin. "Right. So he goes through all the trouble of faking his death and coming to me for a new identity. Take away the emotion and want from the equation. What's more likely—that there's some elaborate conspiracy or danger your husband's involved in, or that maybe he wanted out of the marriage and didn't want you looking for him?"

"It's not like that," Alex says, shaking his head. "If he didn't want to be married to me anymore, he would have said so. This is different. Something's going on here. And if it turns out that you're right, and all of this was just to get away from me, fine. I'll leave him alone. But I can't let this go until I know he's alive and safe."

Andrew seems to be thinking it over. Alex glances down at his hands, sees a wedding ring on the man's finger. "You're married," Alex says. "What if it was your wife or husband? Wouldn't you want to know? Closure is so important. Hope can crush you anew every single day."

Andrew sighs, watching Alex through pitying eyes. After a moment of silence that feels like years, he says, "Do you have a picture?"

Alex blinks.

"Of your husband. So I can match it. Obviously I don't keep records of client's old names."

Alex takes his phone out of his pocket. "Yeah, yeah, sure." He flips through his photos and finds one taken before Geddy's death. He feels his heart in his throat as he slides the phone across the counter to Andrew. "There. That should be..."

Andrew takes the phone without comment and moves over to a computer, where he begins clicking a mouse. "And when did he die?"

"March 12, 2012," Alex says, numbly. The date is seared into his brain like a burn-in image on a television.

Andrew types something into the computer. "I'm searching for any clients I worked with during that period, since it's unlikely he came here that same day. Maybe the day before, day after. Y'know."

Alex can't see the computer screen, since it's on the opposite side of the counter, but he watches Andrew's face. There's a brief moment where he seems to recognize something on the screen, his gaze flicking to the phone then back to the monitor. He clicks, and a page begins to print from below the counter. Andrew snatches it up and hands it over.

"It's been a year," he says by way of warning Alex. "He might have relocated, or maybe whoever he was hiding from found him first."

The latter is unlikely, Alex thinks, because if Geddy had turned up dead someplace else, his fingerprints would have been run through the national database or, barring that, his DNA would have been run, and Alex would have been contacted.

Alex nods, extends a shaking hand and takes the printout.

"You might not like what you find," Andrew says.

"I'll take my chances."

* * *

_Dirk Lifeson_

_2112 Point Prim Rd_

_Belfast, Prince Edward Island, Canada_

 

Alex reads the address again. It doesn't change. The paper shakes in his quivering hands.

Geddy is alive.

Hope ignites in Alex's chest, and he does nothing to extinguish it.

He knows this is Geddy. Aside from the tell-tale surname, Dirk had been a stupid marital joke between them. They played the arcade game Dragon's Lair back in 1983, and Alex pointed out the plucky hero Dirk the Daring reminded him of Geddy, then Geddy joked that the blonde, sex-pot princess Daphne could have easily been Alex.

He's alive.

He's been alive this whole time, just a two-hour flight away.

Alex buys a plane ticket from his phone and races home.

* * *

Alex nearly keels over from shock when he comes through the front door. John and Kyla are in the kitchen cooking dinner together, and Kyla isn't being rude or coldly silent to him. She's actually laughing at something he's said, like she has accepted him as part of the family.

They both turn toward Alex as he approaches. "Hey," John says, his expression bright and loving. "You're smiling! Is that because me and her are getting along, or because you like what's cooking?"

Alex peers into the skillet Kyla's fussing with: prosciutto-wrapped chicken with lemon orzo and peas. One of Alex's John-friendly dishes.

"Well, both," Alex says, easing into the lie he rehearsed in the car, "but there's a third thing too. I got a call from this art gallery on Prince Edward Island. They want to buy a couple of my paintings, so I thought I'd fly out there and see what's what, y'know?"

"That's great! I'm so proud of you." John takes Alex's hands in his own, pulls him closer for a short kiss. Alex feels the burn of guilt in his stomach. If Geddy is alive, John won't be part of the equation anymore, despite how sweet and wonderful he has been through all of this.

"What paintings do they want?" Kyla asks.

"They liked a lot of the ones I did over the last year. I never thought they were that great—I posted them on my Instagram, but..." Alex shrugs, chuckles. "I guess taste is subjective."

"Maybe the whole 'you have to suffer for your art' adage has some truth to it," John says with a sympathetic smile, still holding Alex's hands. He squeezes them tenderly. "Why don't you go rinse off? Dinner should be ready by the time you're done."

"Actually," Alex says, his expression an apologetic but hopeful wince, "I kinda already bought the ticket for tonight?"

"How long is the flight?"

"About two hours."

"So just go in the morning. You're gonna have to wait 'til tomorrow anyway."

"But if I fly there tonight, I'll already be there. No waiting once I wake up," Alex says.

John looks at him fondly. This is probably the first time in a long while Alex has been excited about anything. How must John feel seeing Alex so blissfully happy?

"Alright, go ahead," John says without resentment, chuckling at Alex's eagerness. "But I'll miss you." He squeezes Alex's hands again, and Alex feels compelled to kiss him. It might be the last time he ever does.

"I'll miss you too. But maybe I'll buy you something nice with all the money I'll make."

"No, no, you keep your money. I'm just happy to be with you."

"Gross, get a room," Kyla says, placing a lid on top of the pan and turning down the heat.

John glances over his shoulder at her. "Fine, we will." He turns back to Alex, hooking his index finger in the slight v-neck of Alex's t-shirt. "What time does your flight leave?"

"Eight."

"We have plenty of time," John says with a sly smile.

"Ugh, seriously?" Kyla groans as John and Alex hurry upstairs.

The sex is hot and fast and intense. Alex rides him hard, too keyed up to let John set the pace. John clutches Alex's hips, his thighs, runs his hands over the breadth of Alex's stomach, which Alex is oddly aroused by. Part of him feels like John is judgmental of his physique, since John works out and watches his diet. So any time John touches Alex's flabbier, more out-of-shape parts he feels oddly scrutinized, like he's playing an unwitting role in some sort of one-man freak show. _How did this happen_ , John must wonder when he's presented with Alex's naked body.

John grunts and thrusts his hips up, trying to match Alex's pace. He's swearing and sighing, clasping his hands in Alex's own so Alex can use him as leverage. Alex does, their hips clashing together until he breaks, spurting white ribbons over his stomach. John whines and follows him, his cock twitching as he empties his orgasm inside of Alex; Alex loves this part.

When John slips out of him, Alex sighs and sort of flops onto John's chest, his knees slipping out from underneath him. John rubs Alex's back, working down his spine to his doughy ass. Alex feels shamefully fat, but John holds him close and doesn't let go.

"Fuck, that was amazing," John sighs. One of his hands makes its way into Alex's hair. "Have I said I love you lately?"

Alex makes a sound of affirmation into John's chest. "You usually say it after sex."

"'Cause I think it'd be easier for you to brush off if you're not ready to hear it." There's an odd vulnerability in John's voice, and it makes Alex's insides clench with guilt. "Like, 'oh, he just said that 'cause I fucked his brains out.'"

"I know you mean it," Alex says, but he doesn't say it back. Maybe he should have.

* * *

On the flight to the Charlottetown Airport, Alex has nothing but time, so he tries to sort out in his head the sequence of events that led to Geddy's "death."

Geddy got into something bad. Maybe he saw something he shouldn't have—the murder of Rocco Caravino? So he decides to go into hiding. But Geddy knows if he just disappears the mob will press his family for answers. Which means he has to die to keep them safe. He leaves the payment for Neil's services in the crawlspace of the house and takes the gun for protection. He hires Neil, someone with potentially shady connections in the medical world, to help him orchestrate a fake accident and death. Then he goes to the dry cleaners, pays Andrew for a new identity and promptly vanishes, all while Alex and the kids' world is shattered by the news of his death.

On some level, Alex should hate him. Or, at the very least, be furious that Geddy's lies over the span of their marriage led them here. He should be outraged that Geddy faked his death instead of talking to him and trying to work something out.

But Alex is just so goddamn happy Geddy is alive he might be able to overlook all that.

As the plane lands, Alex is filled with frightened, exuberant anticipation. His stomach does flips at the very real possibility of seeing his husband again, and the other likely possibility that this is all a set-up to take Alex out of the picture.

But who would go to all this trouble to kill Alex? Long, elaborate cons don't exactly seem like the mafia's style. And the cops wouldn't need to trap him like this; they could simply arrest him on some trumped-up charges or send someone to sneak into the house and shoot him with a silenced pistol when he's alone. And they would have to get Neil in on it too. There's no need to fake a conspiracy around his dead husband in hopes he will pursue the planted leads.

The plane taxis to the gate. Alex checks his phone and sees two missed calls from Neil. He opts to ignore them for now. He's probably calling in hopes Alex will hand over his money. Fat chance, Peart.

It's a forty-minute ride from the airport to Point Prim Road, a country road off of the Trans-Canada Highway. Night has fallen, and the only source of light comes from the moon and the headlights of the taxi. The houses here are spaced apart pretty graciously, Alex notices. Maybe that's why Geddy chose this place: solitude. Or did he not have a say in where he went?

The taxi stops in front of a plain, two-story white home. Faint lights are on inside. A silver '90s-era Toyota Camry sits parked in the dirt driveway. Aside from a few neatly-trimmed hedges, small bushes, and patches of flowers in the spacious front yard, there are no clues as to what kind of person lives here.

Alex's heart picks up speed, beating manically behind his ribs. He takes his suitcase, pays the driver, and walks up to the house. With a shaking hand, Alex knocks on the door. A dog barks from inside, as though calmly alerting its owner. Alex swears he hears Geddy's voice, muffled from behind the door.

Alex could never have been ready for it. The door opens, and his heart explodes. Geddy stands there, looking saddened and devastatingly beautiful. His brow is creased with so much pain Alex wants to reach up and smooth it away, but his limbs won't move. He can barely even breathe. All he can do is stare at Geddy.

"Alex..."

The sound of his name on Geddy's lips crushes the wind from Alex's lungs.

"You shouldn't have come," Geddy says.

"I always come for you," Alex manages to say. The first words he says to his long lost husband and they're a sex joke. Pathetic.

Geddy muffles a half-sob half-laugh with his hand and embraces him. Alex holds on tight, inhaling the achingly familiar scent of his hair and cologne. He buries his face in Geddy's shoulder and sobs.


	11. Chapter 11

The inside of Geddy's home is reminiscent of a cotton candy beach bungalow. Everything is white, with soft blue accent walls, and pops of reds and blues in the furniture and décor. Vivid watercolor paintings hang on the walls. Geddy's dog, its fur a mix of white and the color of a toasted marshmallow, watches curiously as Alex and Geddy sit together on a sectional sofa the hue of pale sand. Alex is still holding Geddy's hand, refusing to let go, fearing that if he does he'll lose him again.

Alex looks into the dog's black beady eyes. "Hey, dog."

The dog makes a "boof" sound and lies down on the blue-and-white striped rug.

Alex Živojinović: Dog Whisperer.

"What's his name?"

"Yogi."

"Of course you'd name your dog after a fucking baseball player," Alex laughs.

Geddy smiles, but it's tentative, like he isn't sure he's allowed to be happy anymore.

Alex gives him a tender look. Geddy drops his gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, tears welling anew in his eyes.

"You were protecting us."

Geddy shakes his head. "I'm sorry for everything. I should have been honest with you from the beginning, but I was afraid you wouldn't want to be with me. And then as we got closer, it just got harder to tell you the truth, because I'd fallen even more in love with you. I told myself it was better that you didn't know, so in case I got into any trouble you wouldn't have been considered an accomplice."

"Ged, it's okay. I still love you."

Geddy shuts his eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks, and he wipes them with a hand.

"Can you answer me some questions?"

Geddy nods.

"Were you really a mob lawyer?"

Another nod. "Like Robert Duvall in The Godfather. I was the consigliere. Basically an advisor. The Don's right-hand man. But I was probably more like Saul Goodman from Breaking Bad."

"So the cops were right," Alex says, mostly to himself.

Geddy goes pale. "The cops? Did they visit you?"

"They started sniffing around, yeah. But that's my stupid fault. I was poking around, too. Apparently they've got eyes on Ray, and since I met with him they thought they could rattle me."

Geddy buries his head in his hands and groans. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's not on you. If I hadn't talked to Ray, they would never have known about me."

"Ray? What'd you want with him?"

"I was trying to figure out who killed you."

Geddy makes a confused face, so Alex summarizes his investigation. "What I haven't figured out," Alex says when he's finished, "is what you saw that made you run. You saw somebody kill Caravino, right? And they must've seen you, otherwise you could've just kept your mouth shut."

Geddy's face sags, his eyes newly wet. "Just because you can't see any other explanation doesn't mean one doesn't exist. It just means you can't see it."

"When did you start talking like a fortune cookie?"

Another sad smile. Geddy subtly turns away from Alex's gaze. "You think too highly of me. It blinds you."

And maybe Geddy is right, because Alex can't see what he's getting at until Geddy speaks again and shakes him to the core: "I killed Don Caravino."

Alex's blood seems to freeze in his veins.

Geddy pats his leg, and Yogi rises up and pads over to him. He lays his head in Geddy's lap, and Geddy scratches the dog behind the ears. Yogi's eyes close in contentment. "Did you really think we got that lucky with Kyla's donor?" he asks. "That they just magically appeared when we needed them?"

"I thought you paid someone off. Or worked some sort of mafia magic the same way you probably did with our kids."

Geddy shakes his head. His dark hair, greying at the temples, sways with the movement. "When I left the hospital room that day, I ran into Howard Ungerleider, the head of the Giannotti family. He'd heard about what was going on with Kyla and wanted to make a deal. He said he could get me a matching donor if I did him a favor. I asked him what kind of favor, but deep down I knew, y'know? Your enemies don't come around asking you to help them move." He chuckles sadly. "But Howard said it would be an IOU. He'd call upon me for a favor at a later date.

"So we made the deal. Would I kill someone to save our daughter? Gladly. I knew that going in. And I knew you probably would too. So in March of last year, Howard finally cashed in on his favor. He asked me to take care of the Don. Back in February, the two families had a sit-down. The Giannottis wanted Rocco to invest in their drug trade. The Caravinos were wary about getting involved with drugs; we'd always stayed out of that because of one reason or another: political insiders or just not wanting to deal with the trouble it brings. But Ray, the stupid bastard, he tried to convince Rocco to go in on the deal. Right there, Howard knew if he took out Rocco, Ray would take his place and make the investment."

"So he asked you to kill the boss," Alex says, putting it together.

Geddy nods. "I had been wanting to get out for a while, so I spent a lot of time figuring out how I might do it. Which was great, because when you're asked to whack someone they kind of expect it to be done that day. Not too much time for planning ahead."

"But you already had."

Geddy goes quiet for a moment, as though drawing from some inner reservoir of strength. "I shot the Old Man the way the Giannottis would have done it: a bullet in the kneecaps and the back of the head."

That explains why the gun was missing from the wall safe: Geddy had used it in a murder and didn't want to toss it somewhere and run the risk of it being discovered. Bringing it with him provided some extra protection in case anyone figured out where he was.

Alex realizes Geddy's plan. "You started a mob war."

"With my accident happening so soon after the death of the Don, there's no way the Caravinos wouldn't assume the Giannottis were instigating warfare. And they started retaliating, picking each other off one by one. I kept tabs on the news to see how many of them were getting killed off. I always intended on coming back, Lerxst," Geddy says, his eyes imploring. "I just had to wait until they were all dead."

"You were afraid of going to the cops, because telling them meant the truth would come out."

"Would you have stayed with me if I had?"

Alex thinks about it. "I think so. You didn't lie to be hurtful. You were just scared you'd lose me." He smiles at the thought of Geddy being that enamored with him. "It's understandable; I'm a stud."

Geddy laughs. The sound is rusty and weak, like he hasn't done it in a while. "So what do we do now?"

Alex lifts a hand to Geddy's cheek, feeling the warmth of him on his own palm. "Right now I just want to be with you."

They go upstairs, and it's like nothing has changed. Geddy is still delicate and sensitive in the same spots, still makes the same beautiful noises when Alex touches him. Alex uses his fingers, wanting to take Geddy apart slowly. Geddy moans and rocks into his hand. His beautiful face is twisted in pleasure, his mouth curled around Alex's name.

Alex watches him in reverence for a moment before sliding down the bed, just enough to mouth kisses over Geddy's thighs. Geddy lifts his hips, whimpering a little, then he gasps when Alex envelops his sensitive cockhead in his lips. His hands tangle in Alex's hair, coaxing him, so Alex gives him more, swallowing him down, teasing two slippery fingers at his opening. Geddy groans a long, satisfied noise. His body shakes, and he eases a leg over Alex's shoulder for a better angle.

Already Alex has fallen back into routine, his lips and tongue and fingers working in tandem, in achingly familiar ways. He doesn't hurry. He wants this to last as long as possible, because he's terrified it's all a dream and he's going to wake up in his own bed with John and nothing will have changed. But Geddy's taste is sweetly bitter in his mouth, his ass tight and slick and hot around Alex's fingers, and it's all too vivid to be pure fantasy. Alex lets his tongue play where his fingers had been, and Geddy yelps, coming hard and fast and graceless.

Alex laps at the mess on Geddy's belly, savoring the taste he has missed for so long. Geddy's fingers curl in Alex's hair, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Alex is so consumed with consuming him that he doesn't notice Geddy's quick breaths until he hears sniffling. He looks up to see Geddy wiping tears off of his own face.

"Oh, Ged, don't cry after sex. It's such a turnoff."

Geddy laughs a sad sound and sniffles again, wiping his eyes. "I don't deserve you," he says, his voice wrecked, from his orgasm or his tears Alex doesn't know. "I lied to you about everything."

Alex moves closer. "I'm just so fucking glad you're alive. But you don't need to hide anything from me ever, okay? No matter what, we'll deal with it. Together. That's how a marriage works, remember?"

"So you're not mad at me?" Geddy asks, his brow creased in pain.

"No, but if you ever pull another stunt like this I'll kill you myself."

Geddy laughs again and kisses him, his tears damp against Alex's cheeks.

After Geddy repays Alex's oral favor, he drives them to the end of the peninsula for dinner at a seafood restaurant. While they're seated and enjoying warm bowls of clam chowder, Geddy says, "Do you know why I chose this place?"

"'Cause the food is awesome?" Alex says, his mouth full.

Geddy smirks. "No, I mean this island. I could've gone anywhere, but I chose this spot for a reason."

Alex can't imagine why; they never vacationed here or even marked it on a bucket list. "You wanted to work on your tan?"

"Look outside," Geddy says, tipping his head toward the window near their booth.

Alex does. It's dark outside, and the restaurant is the only place around, but he sees a light in the distance, higher up than it would be on a house or regular-size building.

"The lighthouse," Geddy adds, seeing that Alex hasn't quite gotten it yet. "You painted one on the mural in the nursery, remember? I fell in love with that scene you created, and I came here because I felt like I could be closer to you, in a weird way. I know this isn't the only place on the island with a lighthouse, but it's not too far, and I wanted to be able to visit it without too much trouble."

"You sap," Alex teases through tears.

"Not a total sap. I had to leave my wedding ring on the John Doe, otherwise you wouldn't have believed it was me."

Geddy rarely, if ever, took off his ring. Had the ring been missing among Geddy's recovered personal effects, that would have been enough to make Alex start questioning the validity of Geddy's death, even through the haze.

"You're a goddamn mastermind," Alex says with a small chuckle. "But you left the money in the crawlspace like a dope."

"Where else could I have put it? Any bank accounts in my name would be closed, and I was too afraid of being monitored to open an offshore account. So it had to be cash, and I didn't have any place to hide it but in the house. If you discovered it, fine. I didn't think you'd dig too deep."

"You underestimated how empty my life would be without you," Alex says, and Geddy's expression collapses like he's just witnessed a puppy dying, so Alex tries to distract him. "You left that address book in the bag. With all those phone numbers. That got me curious."

Geddy's eyes go wide and terrified behind his glasses. "Shit, really?"

"Oh my God, was that a mistake? Did you fuck up your own perfect plan?" Alex grins.

"Maybe I did," Geddy laughs, shaking his head in disbelief at his own stupidity.

* * *

The bone marrow donor for Kyla Weinrib is Sheila Hine, wife of Giannotti crew consigliere Rupert Hine.

It's all starting to come together.

At a private table in The Orbit Room, Ray details his theory to Broon and the B-Man. "Howard's no shit-for-brains. He knows how to play this. He finds Weinrib, tells him he can get him a donor. Weinrib says yes to save his kid and makes the deal with the devil. Then later Howard comes around looking to cash in on that favor. He wants the Old Man outta the way. Weinrib's in no position to say no. He ices the Old Man and tries to be clever by making it look like a Giannotti hit, starting a gang war."

"Then what?" Broon asks. "You think he killed himself in that car accident?"

"Geddy wasn't a violent guy," the B-Man says. "Maybe he couldn't live with blood on his hands."

But Broon's frowning like he doesn't buy it. "I don't think it's a coincidence the Giannottis are tied into this. But four years is a long time to wait."

"Howard probably got off on keeping him in suspense," Ray says.

"And it can't be a concidence the boss is killed after he refuses a business deal with them," the B-Man adds. "The Old Man was shot in his own home. To get that close, it would have to be someone he trusted."

"Someone like Weinrib," Ray says, emphasizing his point.

"So maybe someone killed Geddy after the job was done to make sure he didn't talk," the B-Man says.

Ray chews that one over. "I think he would see that coming. And the Giannottis probably didn't think he'd turn the tables on them. Weinrib was no shit-for-brains either. If he went to these kind of lengths to save his kid, he wouldn't want his family finding out what he did for a living. His only way out was to die a hero."

"The Giannottis had him by the balls after providing the donor. He knew he'd be called to kill someone. That's four years of planning," Broon says.

"And if the Giannottis pulled the trigger on the Old Man, they wouldn't try to hide Weinrib too," Ray says. "They would've done him the same way. Rubbed our faces in it."

"So if they didn't kill him..."

"Maybe nobody did," Ray says. It's just a theory, but it's almost impossible to ignore how coincidental his death is if Geddy pulled the trigger on the Old Man.

One hour later, Broon pushes through the doors of a Milliken dry cleaners.

* * *

Kyla wakes up the next morning and immediately checks her phone for any sort of communication from Alex. She turns on the screen, and her shoulders sag. Nothing.

Surely he wouldn't forget about her. Somewhat of an overprotective father, Alex should have sent at least one text message inquiring if she was okay in his absence. Could something have happened to him? Kyla isn't sure what kind of foul play Alex could have run into, but she can't shake the feeling something isn't right.

She's probably overreacting. Maybe the flight made him tired and he fell asleep before he could text her. And he may not even be awake at this hour. It's very likely she's just worrying for nothing.

Downstairs, John is already up, pulling something out of the oven. Toffee hops down the stairs alongside Kyla, though he's a little slower than she is.

John greets her with a smile and a delicious, bubbly casserole. "Good morning. I followed your dad's recipe, but I've never been much of a cook."

"Thanks." Kyla gives him an awkward, appreciative smile. "Speaking of Pop, have you heard anything from him?"

"No, but I figure he's pretty exhausted from jet lag. You could text him if you're worried about him; he might think I'm just being clingy if it comes from me."

"Won't help if he forgot to take his phone off airplane mode," Kyla says before an idea sparks to life in her head. She spoons out a chunk of the steaming-hot casserole and sits at the table. After Geddy died, Alex feared he would lose Kyla too, and he insisted she allow him to track her via GPS, just in case the worst happened. Kyla understood his fear but thought it was totally lame; she did, however, allow him to enable the tracker app. But the app works both ways, letting her track him as well.

Kyla opens the app and waits for the map to load. It immediately brings her in close, so she zooms out to get her bearings. Alex—or at least his phone—is definitely on Prince Edward Island, but his current location seems suspicious. For one, he's nowhere near a hotel or any sort of lodging where a traveller would stay. He's somewhere on Point Prim Road, where the only nearby business is a seafood restaurant. She might not be surprised if he was at the restaurant, but the dot indicating his location isn't parked there.

Kyla tries the satellite view for a better look. Alex's dot is situated on top of what looks like a house in the countryside. Hadn't Alex mentioned he was visiting with some art museum owner? Maybe that's the guy's house.

But wouldn't it make more sense to actually meet at the museum where his work will be hung? Meeting at the owner's house seems unorthodox. Suspicious.

Kyla briefly considers the possibility her father is having an affair. The idea strikes her as impossible; Alex had been staunchly faithful to Geddy for almost forty years. Their love was embarrassing yet wholesome in a way Kyla wants for herself someday. And even while Kyla still thinks John is a piss-poor stand-in for Geddy, she can't picture Alex cheating on him and treating him like a shmuck. He would be upfront and honest if he was unhappy.

None of that explains what Alex is doing in this house in the middle of nowhere. If she could get a closer look at his location, maybe...

"I'll be right back," Kyla says to John, picking her phone up from the table and heading for the stairs. She gets to her bedroom, opens her laptop, and accesses Google Maps. She might be able to get a better view of where Alex actually is by using Google Earth, since the GPS app only shows a zoomed-out overhead view.

Kyla types the address into the search bar. Immediately, the map jerks to 2112 Point Prim Road. She zooms in until the view changes to a street view. Now she can see the address leads to a house in what looks like a seaside neighborhood. Its neighbors are positioned at least two house lengths away, giving the area a secluded, countryside feel.

But that's not what makes Kyla's heart stop.

In the photograph of the street, a moment frozen in time, is a man walking his dog. Long hair, but it's definitely a guy, judging by the ¾ view. His face is blurred out, as per usual for people caught in Google Earth's photos, but Kyla knows those clothes, the hair, and the body type. If he hadn't died over a year ago, Kyla would bet her own life that man in the picture is her father Geddy.

Something lodges in her chest and makes it hard to breathe. Her eyes flick up to the top left corner of the screen. The date the photo was taken: July 2012.

Impossible. Geddy died in March 2012. How could he be alive four months later on the other side of the country?

Her rational side, growing quieter by the moment, reminds her she hasn't even seen the man's face, so how can she be certain it's her dead father? Surely Geddy couldn't have been the only man in Canada with long brown hair and a casual fashion sense. She must be imagining things, seeing what she wants to see out of desperation.

But none of that explains why Alex rushed off to this house. Like he knew Geddy might be here. Alex hasn't given much of a shit about anything since Geddy died. His enthusiasm for someone interested in his paintings didn't seem manufactured, but the story sure did. He wouldn't be so excited to sell a painting or two that he'd be unable to wait until morning for the flight.

But if he knew his husband was still alive...

Kyla can't make her heart stop racing. Every time she tries to look at this reasonably, possibility blows rationality out of the water. If Geddy is alive, it makes sense why the cops suddenly had an interest in him and Alex, why Alex was asking questions about Geddy's last days, like he was trying to piece together a mystery. And of course he wouldn't tell her until he knew for sure, so that's why he came up with some bullshit cover story John was all too happy to buy.

If Geddy is really alive, Kyla needs to see him. She never got to say goodbye; like hell she's not getting the chance this time.

She buys a plane ticket to Charlottetown Airport and decides to skip school today.

* * *

Alex wakes up with Geddy in his arms and warm sunlight creeping over their resting forms. Geddy is still asleep, his features peaceful and serene. Alex can barely remember the last time he woke up where Geddy was the first thing he saw. It feels like centuries ago. He actually reaches out and pokes Geddy's bare shoulder with his finger, as though doubting he's even real. But Geddy's skin is soft and pliable and very real.

Geddy blinks open an eye, his mouth twisting into a smile at the sight of Alex's adoration. Knowing where a kiss will lead, Alex just pulls him closer and breathes him in. Geddy's hair smells like coconut, the lingering scent of his shampoo from last night's shower. His skin is moisturized with cherry almond lotion. He smells like Alex's own personal heaven.

"I'm never letting you go," Alex murmurs into Geddy's skin.

"A man needs some private time," Geddy says, which makes Alex chuckle.

"How do I know you won't disappear on me again?" He means it as a joke, but Geddy looks crestfallen, and Alex immediately feels like a dick. "I didn't mean it that way. I just—I can't lose you again. I don't think I could handle it a second time around."

"But you already did. You kept living."

"That wasn't living."

Geddy arches an eyebrow. "I thought you shacked up with your old boyfriend." During their short spurts of conversation last night, Alex caught Geddy up on what he's missed.

"He's a great guy, but he's not you," Alex says.

"Does he make you happy?"

"As happy as I could be without you."

Geddy looks saddened by the depth of Alex's devotion. Alex kisses the frown from his mouth. "None of this changes how I feel about you," Alex tells him. "We can be a family again. We can be together." He moves, rolling so he's on top of Geddy. The bed is small, probably a twin, but Alex and Geddy never had much of a need to sleep apart.

Geddy hums a soft noise in his throat, his hands skimming over Alex's bare thighs. Alex folds over him for another kiss as his cell phone vibrates from its place on the nightstand. Geddy is closer, so he reaches over and grabs it, understanding the possibility of a Kyla-related emergency.

Alex takes the phone from Geddy, checks the screen, and frowns. He's missed another call from Neil, and texts from John and Kyla.

Kyla's message is a little alarming: _Don't freak out if school calls you. I skipped bc I feel sick. Woman problems._

Alex has a sneaking suspicion she's up to something, but he can't imagine what. John isn't listed with the school as Kyla's parent or guardian, so he couldn't call in for her. It makes sense she'd text Alex instead.

Still...

Alex writes back: _Ok... We'll talk when I get home tonight._

"Something wrong?" Geddy asks from underneath Alex, rubbing a hand over the top of his thigh.

"I'm not sure." Alex slides off of him, landing beside Geddy on the bed. Remembering the GPS app on his phone exists, he pulls it up. But Kyla has revoked his access to her location.

Alex scowls at his phone like he blames it for everything.

"What?" Geddy scoots closer so he can see.

Alex tells him about the texts and Kyla's disappearance on the app. Geddy just shakes his head and chuckles. "You turned into a helicopter parent while I was gone, didn't you?"

"You don't think this is weird?" Alex says, gesturing with his phone to emphasize the point.

"She's a teenage girl. She doesn't want her parents tracking her. There has to be an element of trust, don't you think?"

Alex pouts. "I already lost you. I didn't want to lose her too. So I asked if she'd let me track her. Not all the time, just in case of an emergency. And she did for a while, but I don't know when..."

"Right, you don't know when she turned it off. It could have been months ago. It might not have anything to do with this. She's probably just lying about being sick so she can stay home. Haven't we all done that?"

Alex laughs at the memories of his life when he was Kyla's age. "Yeah, I guess."

"She's a good kid. Takes after me." Geddy smirks, and Alex gives him a friendly shoulder nudge. He pulls up John's message next: _hey just checking in. I miss you :) Any suggestions for dinner tonight?_

Alex sighs. He doesn't want to hurt John, but this is the way it has to be. He writes: _surprise me ;)_

Geddy sees the hurt on Alex's face. "He loves you," he says, as though Alex needs a reminder.

"I know."

"Maybe you should be with someone who hasn't hurt you."

Alex squeezes his eyes shut. "Don't fucking say that to me. I didn't go through all this just to have you walk away because you think I deserve better. I'm the one who gets to decide that."

"How are you gonna tell the kids about me?" Geddy asks, his voice hitching a little with emotion.

"I'll figure something out." Kyla will most likely forgive Geddy any transgressions as long as he's alive. Adrian and Justin will be more difficult, since their relationship with Geddy isn't as strong as Kyla's. They could probably take him or leave him, and finding out Geddy was a mobster who faked his death won't be an easy pill to swallow.

Geddy settles a hand over Alex's stomach; Alex feels no shame in his body. "We can't be together until the Caravinos and the Giannottis are dead. All of them. That's the only way we can be safe. And I don't want any more bloodshed."

Alex's heart starts to crumble. "Even if it means being with me? And seeing Kyla and Justin and Adrian and your grandkids?"

"If we wait, they'll kill each other. They've already started. Just give it time and let them finish the job."

"I thought you didn't want any bloodshed."

"Not on my hands."

"You started this," Alex points out, not unkindly. "It's on your hands."

Geddy sighs in that way of his when they would argue and he grew tired of belaboring the point. "Can't we just enjoy ourselves a little bit longer?"

"Well, sure, but at some point we have to figure out how this is gonna work. I wanna be with you, Ged, but you have to make the effort."

"You want me to kill the rest of both crews?"

Alex shakes his head. "Maybe you should start thinking about cutting a deal with the cops."

Geddy jerks away as though Alex has suggested something unforgivable. "No. No way."

"Why not?"

Geddy's sliding out of bed and getting dressed, deconstructing their little paradise like a movie set after the final shoot. "I'm not going to prison, Alex."

"Maybe you won't have to. That's kinda the point of making a deal, right? If you've got information on all these guys, you have some leverage too."

"No!" Geddy says, hard and insisting. "Goddamn it, I went through too much trouble just to end up in prison! That's not how this is supposed to end!"

"Then how can we be together?" Alex asks, but he hears the answer in his own head. It's an answer he doesn't like, and he tries to shake it away. "You wanna wait 'til all these guys kill each other? Fine. Let's ignore the ethical issues there. Are you and I supposed to live apart until that happens? What do I tell the kids? Do I break up with John or string him along? We're not alone in this anymore, Ged."

Geddy sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I got us here. Maybe you have to figure out the rest."

Alex is offended by the presumption that he should be grateful for the mess into which Geddy has thrown him and their children. "So you fuck things up and I have to untangle it?" They're the first words entirely fueled by anger that Alex has spoken to Geddy since they reunited.

"I didn't ask you to find me!" Geddy snaps. "That's on you!"

"And I didn't ask you to fake your death! All of this is on you!"

Geddy scoffs and shakes his head like Alex just doesn't get it. "So much for forgiving me," he grumbles, loud enough for Alex to hear as he storms out the door.

 _You absolute dickhead,_ Alex thinks, throwing on his clothes in a fury. He's reminded of how much he hated Geddy's proclivity to abandon arguments in the heated middle, like he'd been wounded in battle and needed to regroup.

Alex hurries down the stairs to catch up with Geddy. "Ged, I'm sorry, but you gotta meet me halfway here."

"Why don't you just move in with me? After Kyla goes off to school... what's stopping you?"

"Does she get to know you're alive? Do Adrian and Justin? Am I putting all of us in danger by telling my kids their dad isn't dead?"

Geddy stops at the bottom of the stairs, contemplative. "I don't know. Since you talked to Ray, maybe he suspects something. Maybe it wouldn't be too big of a deal if you moved away. Who would blame you for leaving your dead husband's house?"

"But Neil knows you're alive. He doesn't know where, but he gave me the contact info for a guy who does. If I could find you, maybe Ray could too."

"He wouldn't have much of a reason to unless he knew I took out the Don."

"Then you'd have both crews looking for you," Alex says before realizing that's not exactly helpful.

"Then maybe you can't tell them. The kids, I mean," Geddy says, and Alex feels like he's been slapped.

"That's a pretty big lie."

"No bigger than any of mine."

Alex scowls. "I'm not used to keeping secrets from my family."

"I'm sorry we can't all be as fucking pure and innocent as you, Alex," Geddy snaps. "You don't get to judge the hard decisions I've made. You never had to make any."

"And whose fault is that? You never let me in."

"I was trying to protect you."

"Well, look what a great job you did," Alex sneers.

Geddy's jaw tightens like he's biting back a harsh reply. They glare at each other for a moment before Yogi, who's lying on the couch, raises his head and barks.

The dog isn't barking at them but, rather, at the door, as though he hears a car or footsteps approaching. Panic crosses Geddy's features, and he hurries to the door, peering out the peephole. Whatever he sees out there sends a jolt through him. Alex moves closer to him on instinct.

"You told her to come here?" Geddy asks in a despaired whisper-shout. "She knows about me? Why would you do that?"

Alex doesn't know what the hell Geddy's talking about until the door opens, and he's face-to-face with Kyla.


	12. Chapter 12

Kyla gets one look at Geddy and collapses into his arms, sobbing like a little girl. She holds him tightly, afraid to let go, and Alex feels a sense of deja vu in his own reunion with Geddy. This should be a tender moment for Alex, but he can't get past his anger at Geddy for being responsible for this in the first place. If Geddy hadn't bailed on them Kyla wouldn't have suffered over the last year.

"Please don't leave again," Kyla begs through sobs.

Alex doesn't give Geddy the chance to make another false promise. "How the hell did you get here?" he asks his daughter in a voice that says she's in Very Big Trouble.

Kyla sniffles, wiping her eyes on the shoulder of Geddy's t-shirt. "I bought a plane ticket."

"But how did you know where to go?"

"I tracked you on the GPS. Then I looked up where you were on Google Earth. Then I saw Daddy."

Geddy perks up at that. "What do you mean?"

"Your picture," Kyla explains. "On Google Earth. You were walking your dog. Your face was blurred out, but I knew it was you. There wouldn't be any reason for Pop to be here if that wasn't you."

Geddy looks panicked by this, but Alex has bigger concerns. "Does John know where you are?"

"I told him I was spending the night at Laura's," Kyla says, sounding guilty. "So he wouldn't get worried when I didn't show up after school."

"And you told me you were sick. What a convoluted web of lies. You're definitely your father's daughter." Alex cannot resist the jab, because deep down he's a petty asshole.

Geddy shoots him a glare that could turn milk sour; Alex holds up his hands, acquiescing.

Kyla can probably sense the tension between them, that she walked in amidst an argument, but she looks at Geddy and asks, "Why did you leave us?"

Alex is curious how Geddy will spin this one, but he already knows.

"I was in trouble," Geddy explains, "and I wanted to protect you and your brothers and your dad."

"Why didn't you just go to the police?"

"That wasn't really an option."

"'Cause you were breaking bad?"

Alex can almost see Geddy squirm under Kyla's questions.

"I wasn't making or selling drugs, if that's what you're thinking," Geddy says carefully. "But I was involved in a less than legal business venture."

"But why didn't you make a deal? That's what everybody does, right? They give the cops information about somebody and go into witness protection."

"I don't have anything to bargain with," Geddy says. "I don't know anything."

"Oh, that's bullshit!" Alex crows. "You worked with these people for thirty years, maybe more. You know plenty. You just don't want to risk going to jail."

"Is that really too much to ask?" Geddy wonders.

"So you'd rather fake your death and put your family through hell?"

"Who cares?" Kyla interjects. "He's alive, and we can be a family again! Isn't that what matters?"

"The trouble he faked his death to escape is even worse now," Alex tells her. "So, no, we can't just be a family again unless he makes a deal."

Geddy pouts, looking torn between extremes.

"Maybe you'll just do a couple months for insurance fraud," Alex suggests, trying to be helpful. "Prison isn't that bad for you guys, right? I mean, did Goodfellas lie to us?"

"If I go to prison because I made a deal, I won't survive. Odds are I'll end up in the same place with someone I snitched on. Once the cops get whatever information they need, they don't care if I end up dead in prison a month later."

"So why can't we all just stay here?" Kyla pleads, seeing the impossibility of the situation. "I'll change my name, go to a different school, whatever it takes. I just don't want you to leave again." Her voice hitches with a sob, and Geddy holds her close.

"Give me a few hours," Geddy murmurs to Alex. "Please."

Alex doesn't know if Geddy plans on using this extra time to stall or actually explain to Kyla what's going on. He presumes the former, but nods and says, "Fine."

Exasperated, Alex goes outside to the back porch for a breather. The yard seems to sprawl endlessly outward. Alex sits in a lounge chair and takes his phone out of his pants' pocket. He sends John a text: _Whatever Kyla told you, she lied. She tracked me down on PEI. She's safe, but absolutely 100% grounded forever._

John writes back after a minute or two: _Why would she do that?_

Alex: _Long story short, she thought I was up to something shady and wanted to catch me in the act. Probably thought I was cheating on you._

He adds a laughing emoji, but it's not like Kyla was wrong...

John: _Sounds like you've been busy. Teenage daughters can be a headache. But I think I know what to make for you... You deserve something indulgent._

Alex smiles and types: _Don't keep me in suspense._

John: _I don't wanna spoil the surprise. But I know you'll love it._

Alex: _Tell meeeeeeeee_

John: _You'll just have to wait until tonight._

Alex: _You suck_

John: _hmmm maybe I'll do that too ;)_

Alex chuckles to himself, warmed by John's humor but saddened that he may have to let him go. And why? Just because Geddy had a claim to Alex first? Geddy abandoned Alex and doesn't seem interested in taking the steps to reclaim his family, like he expects this mess to work itself out on its own.

Reading over their flirtatious banter, Alex is stricken by how he's repeating Geddy's pattern of lies and secrets, keeping John in the dark about what's going on. He has a right to know, and if this is something John deems serious enough to leave Alex over, well, he should probably find out sooner rather than later.

Alex types: _Can you talk now? There's a lot of shit going on I should probably tell you about._

He holds his breath, waits for an answer. His phone rings in his hand, and he answers it.

"What's up, babe?" John asks, sounding way too chipper for this conversation. "Something wrong with Kyla?"

Alex doesn't know how to say this except to just blurt it out: "Geddy's alive. He faked his death 'cause of all that greasy shit he was involved in, but he's alive, and I found him. Kyla found him too."

There's a pause on the other end, and Alex fears he's lost John, that John has decided the circus of Alex's life is too much for him and promptly escaped while he had the chance. But then his voice says, "Oh shit... Really?"

"The three of us are here at his place wondering what the fuck to do."

"Well, what are you feeling? I mean, right now, what's your first emotion?" John's ex-wife was a therapist, and usually Alex hates when John talks like this, but he appreciates it now.

"I'm furious. I wasn't before. At first I was just so happy he wasn't dead, but now..." Alex sighs, stretching out in the chair. "What the fucking hell was he thinking? How could he do this to Kyla? To the boys? To me?"

"What about Kyla? How's she feeling?"

"She's too happy he's alive to care that he abandoned us. Maybe she'll change her mind, but I don't see that happening any time soon." Alex isn't sure what's worse: Kyla seeing Geddy for the selfish jerk he is, or always deifying him and never seeing the truth.

"Do you have any idea what you're gonna do?" John asks, and he doesn't sound like he's hunting for a particular answer.

"Honest to God, I wish I could just wake up and not have to deal with any of this." A sad laugh escapes Alex's throat. "If I could go back to before I found the money and started looking into his death..."

"I think it had to happen this way, though," John says. "Otherwise you would've always idealized him."

"Yeah, maybe..." Alex stares at the long grass swaying in the breeze. Everything here feels like a goddamn dream, too far removed from reality to be true.

"Do the boys know?"

"Oh Jesus, I hope not. I haven't told them, but I don't know what Kyla might have said..."

"Well, if she said anything they probably would have contacted you for confirmation. Or to yell at you for not telling them. But either way, I think you'd know."

Alex wishes John were here with him now so he could hold his hand or rest his head on his shoulder. Any sort of physical contact, a touch that feels as though it's siphoning the pain and distress from Alex's veins.

"Why don't you take a couple days and think about it?" John suggests. "Kyla can stay with you or come home. Whatever you think is best."

Alex feels his chest tighten, and the words come out before he can stop them. "I love you. I don't say it a lot, but I do love you. So much."

"You love him too," John points out.

"I love who he used to be. Who I thought he was."

"Whatever makes you happy, I'll support it."

Alex can't answer, his throat too tight. He wrestles back the tears and says, "I'll see you later, I guess. I'll call you when I'm coming home."

"Be gentle with yourself, okay?" John is intimately aware of how deeply Alex fears hurting people.

"I'll try my best."

They hang up, and Alex sits there for a moment, letting the calm breeze wash over him. He looks at his phone, at the obnoxious red number hovering by the call icon. He's missed three calls from Neil. Maybe he should find out what the guy wants.

"Alex?" comes Neil's panicked voice.

"You've called me three times already. What do you want?"

"One of Geddy's associates visited me yesterday. He wanted the name of Kyla's bone marrow donor."

"And you just gave it to him?"

"He punched me!" Neil sort of shouts.

"Oh, jeez, why didn't I think of that?" This whole debacle would have been so much easier if Alex had no aversions to using physical violence.

"I think they're looking into Geddy's disappearance. Or maybe they're coming after you and Kyla. Whatever's going on, it's probably not good."

The threat of danger is the last fucking thing Alex needs right now. And if this visit occurred yesterday, these guys could be on their way here. They could already be on the island.

Hadn't Neil warned him about this?

_If you can find him, then other people can too._

Alex almost blames himself, but this is Geddy's mess. All Alex did was step in it.

He hangs up and storms into the house. Kyla and Geddy are on the couch. Kyla's scratching Yogi behind the ears while Geddy watches with awe, like he never imagined he'd see his daughter again.

"Who was Kyla's bone marrow donor?" Alex asks, shattering the calm.

Geddy looks up at him. "It doesn't matter."

It's terrifying how quickly the urge to punch Geddy rises up inside of Alex. He has never been a violent person. "Oh—shut up! Yes, it does! Neil just told me one of your thugs beat him up yesterday to get the name. It matters."

"Sheila Hine," Geddy admits after a moment of contemplation. "She's the wife of the Giannottis' consigliere."

"Goddamn it." Alex rakes his hands through his hair. "So once they get the name, they'll figure out you double-crossed them. The Giannottis weren't gonna admit they hired you to kill your boss. But now that your crew has proof they're involved, it's all gonna come out."

Kyla's head swings around to Geddy. "You killed someone?"

Geddy looks pained but doesn't answer.

"These guys are gonna find you," Alex continues, bearing down on him. "Hell, I found you, and I'm an idiot! That fake ID guy handed me your new name and address just 'cause I gave him my sob story about finding my husband. You think he'll keep his mouth shut when these guys show up with guns?"

"So you want me to turn myself in."

"Cut a deal. Go into witness protection. Get a new identity and a new home. 'Cause if you don't, these people will find you and kill you."

"Please," Kyla begs, looking at Geddy. "I don't wanna lose you again."

 _You might anyway,_ Alex thinks.

"Will you come with me?" Geddy asks, imploring.

Alex hesitates. "I don't know. How am I supposed to trust you? You lied to me through our entire relationship, and you faked your death. The moment they asked you to kill your boss, you should have told me. Maybe we could have worked through it, and you could have cut a better deal than whatever you're gonna get now. But you just bailed on us."

Kyla's eyes fill with tears. "You're not staying together?"

"I don't know," Alex says again. He's confused and frustrated, and neither of those states are prime for making good decisions, but he doesn't seem to have much of a choice. "I didn't sign up for this." Because Geddy never told Alex what he was getting into when they went on that first date or talked about starting a family. How is any of that fair?

"I'll make the deal," Geddy says, his voice wracked with pain. "But you have to come with me, otherwise all this was for nothing."

"I thought all this was to protect us."

Kyla starts sobbing, and immediately Geddy and Alex are at her side to comfort her. "It's all my fault," she weeps through wet sniffles. "You killed someone to save me..."

"No, no, that's not how it happened," Geddy explains. "They found you a donor after I promised to do a favor for them later. By the time they asked me to kill him, you were completely recovered. They couldn't just take the bone marrow back if I said no."

Kyla wipes her eyes, her makeup smeared and smudged. She sniffles, looking at her father as though trying to read his face. "Is that a lie too?"

Geddy's pained expression immediately brings Alex back to those terror-laden weeks when they weren't sure if Kyla would live long enough to graduate high school. "It's not a lie," Geddy says. "I promise. None of this is your fault."

Alex meets Geddy's eyes, and he nods, a silent understanding that this is the way it must be. "There's a card in my wallet from the cops I talked with," Alex tells him. "They're investigating Ray. Probably better to go through them."

Geddy rises from the couch, looking drained and defeated. He heads upstairs to the bedroom while Alex holds Kyla, stroking her hair as she sobs weakly into his chest.

* * *

Detectives Cecconi and Wilson arrive within two hours. Wilson glares at Alex like he's something left unflushed in a toilet, probably suspecting Alex knew Geddy was alive this whole time and was just fucking with them.

The house no longer feels like an oasis. It's more like a movie set, something artificial to hide the decay beneath, a physical manifestation of Geddy and Alex's relationship.

"You had us fooled," Wilson says to Geddy in a way that indicates he's not pleased about it. "Why come out of hiding now?"

Geddy's sitting on the couch, facing them as they stand before him. Even Alex is standing, a silent judge of Geddy's misdeeds. Kyla sits beside her father. She's too terrified to leave him even for a second.

"There are people after my family," Geddy admits. "Alex says you've already got surveillance on Ray Danniels."

Cecconi nods slightly.

"What about his crew? Terry Brown. Bill Banasiewicz. Liam Birt. And you need to look at the Giannottis too. Howard Ungerleider. Jimbo Barton. Rupert Hine. And Hugh Syme."

Wilson flips through his notepad. "How are you affiliated with them?" He already knows, but he wants to hear Geddy say it out loud.

Geddy, knowing this, grits his teeth before he answers. He'd probably rather die than give himself up like this. "I worked with the Caravinos as an advisor. I was their lawyer."

"Were you a member of the Caravino crime family?"

"Look, I need you to protect my family. I'll tell you whatever you want, but you have to promise me you'll keep them safe," Geddy says, his voice breaking.

Kyla sniffles and takes his hand in her own, squeezing it.

Alex tries not to be moved by the display.

"Of course we will," Cecconi says. "But we need to know what you know first. That's part of the deal."

Geddy looks at Kyla, and before he can speak she says, "No, I'm staying. You're not leaving me again."

"You can't hear any of this—"

"I'm almost eighteen," Kyla pleads. "You can't baby me forever."

Geddy looks to Alex, who keeps his expression unreadable.

So Geddy confesses all of it, every rule he bent and every string he pulled with (and for) the Caravinos. It's not as violent as Alex expected, though Geddy does admit to helping the Caravinos decide whether to kill a few traitors over the years. He confesses to being part of an organization that, among other things, sold illegally-obtained weapons. He admits his part in the murder of Rocco Caravino, and tells the detectives how he faked his death, leaving out Neil's involvement.

Wilson scribbles details down in his notepad, while Cecconi records Geddy's confession on her phone. Alex watches Kyla's expression cave in with every word, watches the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn't let go of Geddy's hand.

When Geddy's finished, he sighs and says, "How are you gonna protect my family? I want to know how far you're willing to go for them. They don't deserve to die because of my mistakes."

Alex's throat clenches.

"Your family will be assigned new identities and relocated. Alex and your children will be untraceable," Cecconi says.

A low heat prickles across Alex's neck. "Children?"

Cecconi turns to him, looking puzzled. "You have a daughter and two sons, correct?"

"Our sons are adults with families of their own. They have no part in this," Alex argues.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," Cecconi says. "Your husband was involved with this organization for the entirety of your relationship. If your sons and their families aren't relocated, there's nothing stopping these people from kidnapping them or your grandchildren to get to Geddy. These are dangerous people, Alex."

A first-name basis, like they're friends now.

Alex wipes a hand over his mouth, stunned. Is it really his place to make this kind of decision for his family? Is it Geddy's?

"What about our parents?" Alex wonders how far up the family tree this goes. "Are they at risk for being targeted?"

Cecconi nods, as though she expected him to ask this. "Both of you have mothers still living, correct? We can relocate them too."

 _Fuck_.

"I don't know if this is right," Alex says, looking at Geddy. "We can't decide this for them. Can we ask them first?"

"This isn't an opt-in program," Wilson says with derision. "Either all of you—your whole family—agrees to this, or he"—Wilson jabs a finger at Geddy—"goes to prison."

Kyla gasps.

"He'll be killed," Alex says.

"Not if we put him in solitary. Away from the other inmates."

Does Alex want to sentence Geddy to that kind of life? Or would he rather uproot his children and their families and his mother and Geddy's mother, controlling all these lives like a malevolent god, tearing them away from their friends and careers and homes just so he can be with a man who lied to him their entire relationship?

Alex looks at the detectives. "Can you give us a minute? We need to talk about this."

"Sure. We'll be outside." Cecconi and Wilson exit out the front door. Through the windows, Alex sees them lingering on the doorstep.

"Is this the part where we run out the back?" Kyla asks, searching for support.

"No, we're not—we're not running. _We_ didn't do anything wrong! He's the one they're after!" Alex points at Geddy, who withers under the accusation.

"Just tell the cops we'll go into witness protection," Kyla pleads. "Justin and Adrian will do it."

"They'll have to leave their jobs, their friends. So will their wives. Your nieces and nephews will have to change schools and leave their friends behind. That's not fair to do to little kids just because their grandfather is a criminal," Alex tells her, heated now, infuriated that Geddy has put them in this position. "There's more to consider here than just the three of us."

Kyla's eyes well up with tears, like he's just slapped her. "So you'd rather have Daddy go to prison?"

"Alex—" Geddy tries to say something, but Alex isn't having any of it.

"No. I can't go along with this. It's not our job to change our lives for you anymore. I love you, but there's no way I could ever trust you again."

"No!" Kyla cries, struggling against the sobs building in her chest. "You can't do this! You can't let him leave again! We just got him back!"

Alex looks at his daughter and feels his resolve melting away. He tries to harness it before it leaves him completely. "I have to set a good example for you. That's what a father does."

"He's my real father," Kyla snaps in a flicker of childish argument. "I wanna stay with him."

"Your real father? You mean the one who bailed on you? On me and your brothers? The one who'd rather you think he was dead than accept any responsibility for lying to us?"

"Make him understand," Kyla pleads with Geddy, sort of shaking him into awareness. "Please. Tell him you ran to protect us. He'll listen to you."

Geddy shakes his head. "He's right. I screwed up, and I have to pay for it. I can't ask you and Alex, your brothers and their families and your grandparents to go into hiding for me. It's too much."

Alex is momentarily stunned Geddy has taken his side, but finds it apropos they have united for a good cause: protecting their children.

"No no no no no," Kyla warbles through sobs. "Please don't leave again."

"Maybe you can visit me in prison," Geddy says with a half-hearted smile, trying to cheer her up.

Kyla whimpers, wiping her eyes with her hands.

"You'll never have a normal life if we all stay together," Geddy explains, and Alex hears just how much this hurts him."I love you so much, but I'm not good for you."

Kyla seems to understand there will be no second chances here, no last-minute miracles. She cries, and Geddy holds her, murmuring, "I'm sorry," into her hair; Alex thinks he's apologizing for more than what he's just said to her.

From his spot on the floor, Yogi raises his head in a sharp movement toward the front door. He rises to all four paws just as the first gunshots ring out.


	13. Chapter 13

There's no conscious thought in Geddy's actions—just a primitive, base instinct. He pushes Kyla toward Alex, who immediately wraps her in his arms. "Go upstairs!" he orders. "My bedroom. There's a gun underneath the pillow. I'll be right behind you. Go!"

Another shot. Glass shatters.

For once, Alex doesn't argue. He takes Kyla's hand and pulls her towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Kyla yelps, pulling free of Alex's grip so she can grab Yogi's collar and bring him along. "He'll get hurt!"

Alex hesitates for the briefest second, like he's trying to figure out if bringing the dog is a smart idea. But he probably realizes having a guard dog with steel jaws would be beneficial in dealing with intruders. He drags Kyla upstairs. Kyla pulls Yogi along, who wants to outrun them both. Geddy waits until they shut themselves inside the bedroom.

Using the couch as cover, Geddy fumbles through the drawer of an end table. Inside, beneath a secret panel, is a gun, kept here for occasions just like this. Geddy loads the cartridge, his hands shaking.

Despite his past, he was never involved in enough violent altercations to clamp down on the panicked spike of adrenaline that rushes through his veins now. Some of his colleagues learned to harness it, but Geddy isn't sure you ever get used to the cocktail of excited fear when faced with a life or death situation.

Keeping low, Geddy stays with his back to the wall, poking his head around the corner for a quick glance out the front windows. Detective Wilson is slumped on the ground. A dark stain oozes from his jacket. Blood. Cecconi is crouched at his side, and Geddy hears her radioing for backup.

Geddy slips closer, staying down in case more bullets are fired. He presses himself up against the front door, speaking to her through the bullet hole in the glass. "What happened?"

"Wilson is down. They grazed me, but I'll be okay," Cecconi says, sounding winded. "Looks like one of your buddies came by for a visit."

A cold hand squeezes Geddy's heart. He peers out the window. There's another body lying some feet away on the walkway. A red puddle spreads around his immobile form, seeping into the dirt and grass. Geddy recognizes him.

Liam Birt.

"That's it?" Geddy asks. "Just him?"

"It seems so."

Something strikes Geddy as odd about that. The only way the Caravinos would know he was here is if they found Andrew and, thus, knew he faked his death. Once they learned the circumstances surrounding Geddy's fake death, it would be all hands on deck. Geddy killed the Don. You don't walk away from that, and the Caravino crew would all want their turn with Geddy.

Even more suspicious is the approach. Why, if there was only one assailant, would they take their chances shooting at two armed cops? Any shots fired would alert Geddy to trouble, and ideally a hitman wants to make as little noise as possible. You sneak up on your victims, not announce your arrival with guns a'blazing.

Which means Liam was just a diversion, a fall guy for the remainder of the crew.

"The rest are coming," Geddy warns her, rising to his feet and stampeding across the living room and up the stairs. "Alex?" He bursts into the bedroom, gun at the ready, but only finds Alex, Kyla, and Yogi huddled in the corner. Alex has the gun in hand, but he doesn't look like he's willing to use it.

"What's going on? Everything okay?" Alex asks. Kyla clutches onto him with one hand and Yogi's collar with the other.

"It's not over. There's more." Geddy ushers them into the closet, pushing aside rows of hangers to make room for two people and a dog.

Yogi whines and yips, confused by this sudden banishment.

"Stay in here, okay?" Geddy tells them. "Don't make a sound. If that door opens, you pull the trigger."

Looking at the terrified faces of his loved ones, Geddy feels a strange sense of peace. He knows what needs to be done. There is no other choice but to protect his family.

Kyla's lower lip quivers as she struggles to stay quiet. She lets go of Alex and reaches for him, her fingers clawing in the front of his shirt. "Please don't go," she whispers. "Just stay with us. Let the cops handle it. Please."

Fighting tears, Geddy pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. "Listen to your dad, okay? He loves you. I love you."

Kyla smothers a whimpering sound in her throat.

Alex looks at him with a bruised gaze. He knows Geddy too well, knows what's running through his mind. But he doesn't argue or try to convince Geddy there's another way. He knows better by now.

"I love you," Alex blurts out, as though it might be the last time.

Geddy presses a kiss to Alex's mouth and says, "I love you too. Always." He looks at them, his blood rushing so fast and hard that it vibrates his vision. He shuts the door and heads downstairs, running toward the sounds of more gunshots.

By the time he makes it downstairs, Ray and Broon have slipped inside the house through the back door. Cecconi stands in the foyer, gun aimed at them. "Don't move," she commands.

Ray puts his hands up to display he's not holding any weapons. "No need to get trigger-happy. We're just here to talk. And the door was open, so this isn't exactly breaking and entering."

Trespassing, maybe, but Geddy isn't going to smart off now. He inches closer, holding his gun at his side, trying to shave some distance off the shots he'll fire. He has only ever fired a gun once, and that was at point-blank range.

"So talk," Cecconi says. Geddy figures she's buying time for backup to arrive. She wants Ray and Broon alive so they can be charged and sentenced for their crimes, or so they can roll over on their associates for a deal. Or both. And she's not allowed to shoot them unless there's imminent danger: i.e., a weapon drawn.

"He faked his death, y'know," Ray says. His gaze slides to Cecconi, but his head doesn't move. "That's... insurance fraud, at least?" He points to the gun at Geddy's side. "And I don't think that's a registered firearm. I'll bet you ten bucks the serial number's filed off."

Geddy frowns. "Narcing on me already? I thought we were friends."

"We were. Until you killed our boss for that shitbag Howard." Ray looks wounded. "The Old Man was good to you. Like a father."

Had that been part of the reason Geddy stayed embroiled in this business so long? Had he been searching for a father figure after losing his own at such a young age?

"How did you find me?" Geddy wonders.

Cecconi lowers her gun a bit as they talk, still on alert but giving them a bit of breathing room.

"We looked into your daughter's donor, figured out the connection. Then it all came together. I gotta say, Andrew held out pretty good. But he's got a family. That can make a man weak."

Geddy hears the implications there and doesn't like any of them. "Weak... like me?"

Ray shrugs. "Howard couldn't have manipulated you if you didn't have a sick kid. But he would'a found a way to get to you through the people you love."

Ray sees familial ties as weaknesses, but Geddy's greatest strength has come from his love for his family. He wouldn't be standing here facing down these dangerous men if not for Alex and their children.

"I'm surprised you showed up," Geddy says. "You usually never took jobs like these yourself."

"You broke my heart, Ged. I thought we were friends."

The faint wail of sirens sounds in the distance. Geddy hears it, and he knows the others do too. If Ray and Broon are going to act, they will do it now.

Reality drops a gear and falls into slow motion. Geddy sees Broon pull a gun from the back of his pants and whirl in Cecconi's direction. She's quick, trained for precision and speed. Thunder booms twice as two bullets find their bulls-eye in Broon's chest. He falls to the ground like a KO'ed boxer.

But, like Liam at the front door, the Caravinos have created another diversion. Cecconi was never the target, but Broon pulling a weapon diverted her attention long enough for Ray to go for his own gun. Geddy faces down the black hole of the muzzle, then his arms are moving of their own accord, raising up his weapon. He squeezes the trigger once, twice, but there are four cracks of thunder, then Geddy feels a hot slice of pain in his chest, something warm and wet spreading over his shirt, and Ray drops to the floor, his gun scattering across the hardwood.

There is no pain, just an odd mix of calmness and numbness. Cecconi holsters her weapon and reaches Geddy just in time to catch him as he drops forward, his vision unnaturally white. "You're gonna be fine," she says, getting him on the ground and trying to find the wound. "Stay with me."

But Geddy's hands are already numb. His breath is raspy with blood. A film reel of his life plays behind his eyelids. He's almost angry at how cliché that is, until he realizes it's focusing on his children's lives, not his own: _the birth of Kyla, Justin's first baseball game, Adrian learning to walk, the glittery dress Kyla always wore when she was five, reading Lord of the Rings to Adrian before bed, teaching Kyla how to drive, watching the World Series with the boys the first year Toronto won the championship title—_

"They're safe now..." Geddy forces out. "Promise me..."

There's a slight pressure on his chest: Cecconi's hand pressed over his wound. Blood soaks her fingers, flowing hot and fast—

— _then Alex's beautiful smile on their first date, those first few years when he looked at Geddy like he was a godsend, the tranquility of their marriage, the way Alex smiled and laughed at Geddy's proposal, the tears in his eyes when each of their children was born—_

"We'll protect your family," she tells him. "I promise."

"Don't punish them..." He barely hears his own voice. He feels like he's drowning, being sucked underneath the surface of the ocean, pulled deeper and deeper into the black swell. "...for my mistakes. Please..."

And then he sinks.

* * *

Alex can't see in the dark, so his imagination supplies horrifying visuals to accompany the chilling sounds from downstairs. Gunshots. Six of them. Alex tries to determine how many guns by the sound of each bullet, but they're too fast and similar and muffled to figure out anything for certain. Who the fuck does he think he is, Sherlock Holmes?

He does the math in his head. Two bullets per person. So if Geddy fired two, and that female cop fired two, that leaves a third person—maybe the other cop? Maybe the danger has passed, and there's nothing to worry about.

But Alex knows that tone of voice Geddy left them with. It's the same way he'd spoken the night before everything went wrong. The night before he died.

Of course, if jilted mafia members are coming to kill you, it's probably appropriate to treat each moment like it's your last. Geddy might have just been preparing for the worst, giving Alex and Kyla final goodbyes in case he doesn't make it back up the stairs.

Kyla whimpers a tiny sound; she is, Alex realizes, trying not to completely break down, holding back the sobs. Alex is tempted to cover her mouth with a hand, but he doesn't want to let go of the gun—he'll need two hands if he fires.

How long does it take for backup to arrive? It's not like this place is close to a police station, but that had partially been the point of Geddy's relocation, hadn't it?

After what feels like an eternity, Alex hears sirens growing louder and louder until they suddenly stop. There is no more gunfire. No yelling. Nothing that sounds like a standoff downstairs. He lets himself relax a little. Yogi sniffs noisily, detecting new smells in his territory. Noise filters through the quiet. Voices from downstairs. Heavy footsteps.

Eventually, the police announce their presence, and the closet door is opened by men in uniform. Alex hands over the gun to a cop and staggers out, dazed, as though stepping out of the wardrobe into Narnia. Why hadn't Geddy come up to get them? Maybe he got injured in the shoot-out, a leg injury that prohibited him from climbing the stairs. Or maybe the cops decided to bring him in after all, all talks of a deal forgotten under the temptation of a juicy arrest.

The cops escort them down the stairs, asking if they need medical assistance, but Alex shakes them off. He reaches the end of the stairs and takes in the scene.

The living room is filled with activity. Medical personnel and policemen flit about. Cecconi is talking to another cop. Her shirt is a gory mess, but since she's not sitting in the back of an ambulance, Alex assumes the blood isn't hers.

There are three bodies on the floor. Blood stains the white sheets covering the corpses, large red blotches in various places. Yogi whines and jerks free from Kyla's loosened grip around his collar. Kyla doesn't stop him.

The dog pads over to one of the covered bodies, sniffing at the floor and then at the sheet. With a long whistle of a whimper, he lies down beside the fallen man, ears flattened in distress.

Alex doesn't even need to see the familiar red Converse poking out from underneath the sheet to know why.

His heart crumbles into dust.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rad af fanart by @headlongflight: https://headlongflight.tumblr.com/post/159962749964/a-poster-for-the-fic-open-secrets  
> Thanks! ♥

Alex and Kyla fly home that night, the day's events numbing them enough to sit for a two-hour flight without hysterics. For a few minutes after seeing Geddy's lifeless body, Alex went numb and just knelt beside his fallen husband, silent tears streaming from his eyes. Kyla sobbed into Alex's chest for five minutes until the body was taken away by the coroner, then for fifteen more. Alex held her for a long time. She tearfully insisted on keeping Yogi, so they did, storing the dog in a crate in the belly of the plane.

Alex takes advantage of the drink menu stashed in the pocket of the seat in front of him, and he orders enough alcohol to tranquilize a moose. Kyla doesn't scold him for drinking or even side-eye him, just reaches over and takes a long swallow for herself. Alex lets her.

They don't talk about it during the flight. The only acknowledgment of the day's events come when Alex murmurs, "I'm sorry," and Kyla sniffles and tells him, "It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either," Alex says. "I need you to know that."

Kyla just curls into herself, pulling up the hood on her sweatshirt and turning to face the window.

The plane ride gives Alex plenty of time to think. As painful a realization as it may be, Geddy's death—for real this time—was probably for the best. With Geddy dead and buried, the mob families will have no reason to bother Alex or his children. It all stops with Geddy. And Geddy knew that. He was never going to put his family through the ordeal of witness protection, and going to prison as a snitch would have put him on the bottom of the food chain for sure. He would have been killed, one way or another.

But Alex has to wonder if Geddy's intentions were wholly pure. If Geddy went to prison, everything about his past would come out, not only to Kyla, but to Adrian and Justin as well. And, of course, to Alex. Geddy had been so intent on keeping secrets he was willing to fake his death so his family wouldn't know the truth. But lies have a way of festering; Geddy thought he could bury them.

Alex can't believe less than twelve hours ago he was lying in bed with Geddy wishing nothing would change. Putting aside the mafia involvement, could Alex and Geddy have made their relationship work again? Alex isn't sure. They seemed to dissolve rather quickly, and Geddy choosing to fake his death without consulting his husband would have always bothered Alex. Happiness based on untruths tends to be fleeting.

Everyone, it seems, has paid a stiff price for Geddy's secrets. Alex excuses himself by claiming ignorance, but, really, that's not an excuse. He stayed blind for thirty-six years out of self-interest. Once they agreed to start a family, he should have dug deeper, pulled the truth out of Geddy for their childrens' sakes.

While the plane taxis to the gate, Alex checks his phone. He'd texted John before they left, and John's reply pops up from an hour ago: _Love you._

Alex sighs. He hasn't told John about the clusterfuck of events since their last conversation. John's probably waiting with bated breath for any news.

Alex writes: _we should be home in an hour._

Kyla drives them home in Alex's car, which has been parked at the airport since he left for Prince Edward Island. Yogi lies down in the back seat, impossibly quiet. Can a dog get depression, Alex wonders, his brain sort of fuzzy from the alcohol.

The house is quiet and still when they arrive under the cover of night. There are hints of light from within, framing the edges of the windows. Of course John would wait up for them. Alex and Kyla sit wordlessly in the car for a minute or two, as though debating whether to go inside. Maybe being in that house will feel as though the last few weeks never happened, a return to the status quo.

Kyla sighs and gets out of the car. She opens the back door for Yogi, and he hops out, confused by this new world around him. Alex follows suit.

John greets them at the door, but he seems to know enough not to smile like everything's fine and dandy. He sees Kyla's red, puffy face and her hurried, put-together walk through the foyer and up the stairs, sees the dog they have now apparently adopted, then he sees Alex, and John is very familiar with the devastation on Alex's face now.

Alex can't hold himself together anymore, so he lets John do it for him.

* * *

Alex awakens in his bedroom, feeling hung over. It's night time, and John sleeps soundly beside Alex. Alex throws off the blankets—he doesn't remember climbing into bed or even coming upstairs—and goes to check on Kyla. The door to Kyla's room is ajar, which strikes Alex as unusual. Terrified something has happened to her, he inches the door open with his fingers just enough to peek inside.

Kyla is asleep, curled up on her bed with Yogi and Toffee. He's surprised the animals get along so well after such a short time, but pets can be amazingly empathetic. They seem to know when their master is in pain and do what they can to provide relief.

Alex returns to the bedroom to find John awake. "You were out for a while," John says, his mouth upturned slightly.

"Sorry." Alex realizes he's wearing a t-shirt and his underwear. He glances down at himself, confused. "Did we..."

"No. You got drunk and started to change into your pajamas but gave up halfway." John gives him a pained look. "You told me what happened."

Alex winces. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just—I left you to deal with her."

"You had to be strong for her. We're a team; you tagged me in."

Alex loves that John sees it that way, but his moment of happiness is brief. He climbs back into bed, snuggling into the warmth of John's body. "I wish I didn't feel this way," Alex murmurs, tears stinging at his eyes.

John wraps his arms around him; the embrace feels like a home Alex never knew he had. "You're grieving again. It's okay."

"No, I mean... I'm so mad at him, but I'm supposed to be sad. Right?"

"There's no right way to feel," John says, in therapist mode. "And maybe it's better you're not lost in grief so you can help Kyla with hers."

"Some help I am," Alex scoffs. "Being a grouchy asshole."

"But you're angry at him for what he did to Kyla."

Putting Kyla through all of this, finding her father only to lose him again and see his dead body, feels impossibly cruel and unforgivable.

"He didn't know Kyla would find him. He didn't even know I would. But we were together again, and he just—He made a lot of decisions without consulting me. This was one of them."

"You really think he let himself get shot on purpose?"

Apparently Alex shared that theory with John earlier, the idea that Geddy allowed himself to be shot and killed to ensure his family's safety.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Alex says. "Not knowing what I know now."

"Are you gonna tell the boys?"

"I don't know. I think it would do more harm than good. But I won't treat it like a secret. If Kyla wants to tell them, she can." It would probably be detrimental to the grieving process if Alex forbids Kyla to discuss the matter with her brothers, two of the only people in the world who could understand what she's going through.

John holds Alex tighter, kisses his forehead. "Kyla will be okay," he says, finding the true crux of Alex's worries. "She graduates soon, then she's going on a trip with her friend. She needs that. It'll help her forget about all this, or at least make her feel better. Then she'll be at UBC and get involved in classes and meeting people... She'll be okay."

Alex doesn't answer, just sighs again. He wants to believe John is right, but what kind of father would he be if he didn't worry about his daughter's well-being?

"She's gonna hate me forever," Alex confesses. "Before he got shot, I was arguing against staying with him. I couldn't trust him anymore, and I didn't want to put our kids in danger. I feel like Kyla's never gonna forgive me for that. Maybe she blames me for what happened. Like if I'd decided to stay with him, I could've..."

"If she does, she'll get past it."

"Are you sure? How do you lose your father twice before you're even out of high school and not go a little crazy?"

"She has a good support system." John gives Alex a hopeful smile. "You're a great dad. On some level, she knows that. Her brothers are good to her, and I like to think I'm not a horrible step-dad... She'll get through this. And so will you."

"You seem pretty certain."

"My dad died when I was twenty. Did I ever tell you that?" John asks.

Alex blinks. "I think so."

"Right, _how_ he died was the part I left out. He drank himself to death. He was an alcoholic. Destroyed his liver. I was upset, but mostly I was angry at him for not taking care of himself. For dying and leaving my mom."

Alex wonders if that has anything to do with John's health food obsession. Aside from his diabetes, which would encourage him to eat healthier regardless, watching his father uncaringly guzzle poison day in and day out might have spurred John to make sure he didn't have the same fate.

"I did eventually get around to grieving," John continues. "But the whole five stages thing is bullshit. It was created to apply to the emotions the terminally ill express when facing their own deaths. Not for grieving the loss of a loved one."

Alex would bet money on John's ex-wife telling him that tidbit, which he finds strangely endearing somehow.

"So don't worry whether what you're feeling is 'right' or 'wrong.' Just let yourself feel it. You have to, even if just a little, or else you'll explode."

Alex nods. John becomes more appealing to him every day, a never-ending spring of pleasant surprises. He's about to tell John this when his stomach growls too loudly in the quiet room.

John snickers. "Hungry?"

"Just a bit." Alex hasn't eaten all day. After coming home, he and Kyla went to bed without dinner, exhausted by the day's events and their own grief.

"Yeah, me too." John sits up, slides out of bed. "There's a surprise for you in the fridge."

Alex slips into a pair of sweats and follows John downstairs. The kitchen is dark, and John switches on the light over the stove for soft illumination. He opens the fridge and pulls out a covered casserole dish. John has made sun-dried tomato and chicken sausage pasta, one of Alex's favorites.

"You said to surprise you," John says, "so I went through your recipe book."

In his dog-eared cookbook full of recipes he has cultivated over the years, Alex maintains a system denoting his top choices: gold stars for his personal favorites, and silver stars for recipes catering to John's dietary needs. Alex has probably only mentioned this system a handful of times, so the fact that John remembered and chose a gold-star recipe warms Alex from within.

"You're so great, y'know that?" Alex says.

"Maybe you should taste it first before you start throwing out compliments."

So he does. They sit at the table and eat, comfortable in silence broken up by Alex's occasional satisfied noises. After a minute or two, Alex asks, "Does it bother you that I drink?" He thinks this is something they should talk about, though they've been together for this long and John hasn't brought it up until now. So maybe it's not a big deal, but Alex wants to make sure.

John shakes his head. "You're not like him. Don't worry."

"You sure?"

"Yes," John says with a small laugh. "If I really thought you had a problem, don't you think I would've brought it up at some point?"

"I could've hidden it." Alex shrugs. "Sometimes you don't know anything about the people you love."

John frowns like he doesn't believe that. "You're terrible at keeping secrets. That's why you don't want to know them."

"I hid the money."

"What money?"

Alex tells him about the $250,000 in the crawlspace, how he used most of it to pay for Geddy's new address.

John laughs. "Okay, maybe you're full of more surprises than I thought."

"What about you? Anything you're hiding that could come back and bite us?"

John's expression shifts out the playfulness he'd been wearing moments ago. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you now... You're already dealing with so much."

"Lay it on me. Now's probably the best time to do it."

John rubs his arm, an unusually nervous gesture. He stares at the table and doesn't meet Alex's eye. "Eva and I divorced because I cheated on her."

He goes quiet, as though providing a dramatic pause.

Alex gives an impatient handroll. "And?"

"What do you mean ' _and_ '?"

"There's gotta be more, right? You cheated with a recently-released serial killer? A drug dealer? Your wife's gym buddy? C'mon, give me something."

"She was a younger woman."

"Duh."

"She worked at my office."

"Was she cooking the books for you too?"

John looks offended that Alex would even insinuate his finances are dirty. "No."

"Then what's the big deal? Maybe I'm a little jaded, but you're gonna have to do better than that if you're gonna top 'mafioso ex-husband who faked his death.'"

"Geddy set the bar way too high. I feel inadequate."

"There's still time for you to catch up," Alex says with a gentle smile. "How did Eva find out, by the way?"

"I told her. It was just a one-night stand, not even an affair or anything, but I felt so guilty about it I couldn't keep it a secret. I felt like she needed to know, even if it ended our relationship. And it did."

Alex admires John's honesty, his willingness to take responsibility for his fuck-ups.

"While we're being honest..." Alex sighs. "I slept with Geddy."

John huffs a laugh. "I figured that was pretty much a given. Don't worry about it."

Alex sees something on John's face that reads like uncertainty. It's faint, but Alex knows him well enough to catch it. "Hey..." He covers John's hand with his own. "I love you. That's why I'm here."

"I know," John says, but this admission has eased something in him, reassured him Alex isn't here only out of a fear of loneliness.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Kyla graduates high school at the end of May. The following weekend, she is ready to move to Vancouver. Alex tries not to cry too much. He's not only letting his daughter go, but letting go of his final living piece of Geddy as well.

Laura arrives promptly at noon. "Hi, Alex!" she says when he opens the door. "Is Kyla ready?"

Alex encouraged his children's friends to call him Alex, hoping to foster familiarity. He remembers visiting friends with frequently-absent fathers who seemed a little scary because they were never around, so Alex never knew how to act around them. He didn't want to be that kind of dad.

Kyla practically pushes past Alex to greet her friend. She's smiling, looking happier than Alex can remember seeing her in a long while. As much as it pains him to let her go, how could he deny her this?

The two girls go inside to fetch the animals. When they return, Yogi hops into the backseat of Kyla's car, and Kyla loads a suitcase into the trunk. Toffee makes dissatisfied noises inside his carrier, stowed in the back along with Yogi, who looks stoked for a road trip.

Once the car is loaded up, Kyla gives Alex a hug that brings him back to her youth, when she would wrap her arms around him as tightly as she could. "I'll text you every night 'til I get there, okay?" she says. "And you can track me if you want."

Alex knows he won't be able to resist the temptation of checking on her location, even if only just once.

"Laura's parents are gonna come visit before the semester starts," Kyla says. "Maybe you and John could come too. If you want, I mean."

"That sounds great. We could use a vacation."

She chuckles at his lame joke, and Alex thinks he sees tears in the corners of her eyes. "Bye, Pop. I love you." Another hug for good measure. This time, they don't break apart. "I'll miss you."

"I love you too. And I'll miss you like crazy, so I'll try to keep myself busy. You and the boys are the best things I ever did with my life."

Kyla doesn't even look embarrassed that Alex is saying all this within earshot of Laura. She squeezes him tighter. "Don't get into trouble, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

Reluctantly, she lets him go."Bye, Pop," she says again as she gets into the car.

Alex watches her drive away, watches her car go to the end of the street and turn the corner. He stays there watching for a minute after it disappears, hoping it might come back.

Alex texts John: _Kyla just left :( I miss her already._

John: _Empty Nest Syndrome. But on the bright side, now we can have really loud sex in any room in the house. ;)_

 _Idiot_ , Alex thinks with love. He heads inside the house, and, for the first time since all of this started, he paints.

Neil tried to patch things up with Alex, but the damage was already done. He had covered up too much, and in the end Alex couldn't handle it. Trust is so hard to earn, yet so easily broken. Alex ended up giving Neil the rest of the money Geddy squirreled away for him, though. It seemed a half-decent parting gift, and a way to fulfill one of Geddy's last requests.

Terry Broon and Liam Birt may have died at the scene, but Ray survived his injuries once he was taken to the hospital. He ended up cutting a deal and turning in some of his Caravino associates, as well as enlightening the police to the Giannottis. Regardless, the danger to Alex and his family has passed.

Cecconi and Wilson—who also recovered from his injuries—didn't bother charging Alex with anything related to Geddy's crimes. They must have figured the family had been through enough already, especially after witnessing Kyla's breakdown after she saw her father's dead body.

Though the house was never seized for being purchased with dirty money, Alex put it on the market and earned a pretty decent payout. He and John moved to Vancouver to be closer to Kyla. Moving had been John's idea, most likely motivated by his company's offer for a promotion at their Vancouver branch. But, in his defense, he didn't mention that until after suggesting they move for Kyla's sake.

By the end of October, they are fully moved in and finished with renovations. Tonight, Alex grills hamburgers on the deck while John lounges. It's a calm autumn evening, the perfect temperature to linger outside. Their medium-size deck includes an outdoor grill and food prep station for just this sort of occasion.

John leans back in the lounge chair, takes a bite out of the juicy burger. White barbecue sauce drips down the sides of the bun and over his fingers. "Have I ever told you how much I love your cooking?"

"All the time," Alex says, pretending he isn't flattered. "But I don't mind hearing it again."

"Seriously, babe, you could've been a chef," John says with his mouth full. He wipes his hands on the napkin strewn across his lap. He's been with Alex long enough to know most of his food is messy, so he comes to the table prepared.

"Don't remind me of my wasted potential." Alex chuckles and grabs a beer from the mini-fridge. He twists open the top, takes a long drink.

"You didn't waste anything. And all these hidden talents just make you more of a catch."

"Oh yeah? You thinkin' about settling down, making an honest man out of me?" Alex jokes.

John blushes, glancing away.

"Aha! You have, haven't you?"

At some point after Geddy's death (for real this time), Alex discovered he'd removed his wedding ring and never put it back on. He doesn't remember when exactly, but he's certain John does.

"Well, I _do_ love living in sin..." John takes another bite. There's sauce dripping down his chin, and Alex wants to lick it off, but John wipes it away.

"But?"

"But maybe I'd like being married to you." John smirks. "From what I've seen, it seems like a pretty exciting ride."

"No more excitement," Alex says. "At least outside of the bedroom. We're too old for that shit."

John lifts an eyebrow. "Maybe _you_ are."

Alex sighs happily, tipping back in his chair to look up at the bruised, bluish-purple sky beyond the overhang. The trees have gone red and orange, and it won't be long until their branches are bare and frosted with snow. Alex can't wait to spend the holidays with John this year, hopefully less depressing than the last. But he is very much in love with his new life.

He thinks about Geddy a lot. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it doesn't. How do you just forget someone you spent every day with for almost forty years? You don't, and Alex doesn't want to forget Geddy. Remembering keeps him alive, even if only in memory.

* * *

" _So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good._ " ~ Helen Keller


End file.
